I take it with a pinch of salt

Or so I try.

But salt stings,

I’d rather let the pain go by!

It’s honey heals,

So I’ll spread honey on the wound,

The sweetest honey, from my silver spoon.

For often love and pain come,

Holding hands.

One lover may be true,

One may have other plans.

And on we sail, at loves old beck and call

Until we die, then we forget it all!