It seems a little odd,
To have in your possession,
The head of a troll,
You do not call your own.

You see, I understand,
He is striking, a paragon,
But he is spoken for,
By another hearta claim.

The one he calls beloved,
Does not even own,
Such an artifact,
A symbol of obsession.

I understand how he can weigh,
On the heart and the mind,
For he surely does mine,
With his presence entwined.

But doesn't it strike you as odd,
To keep his head in your hold?
A proud trophy claimed,
An act that is surely not yours.

In shadows and whispers,
He lingers in your thoughts,
Of what once was whole,
But not in silence displayed.

Let him rest, let him be,
For this heart cannot bear,
The burden of a head,
That your love does not share.

Penned by my hand on the 17th of Miraman, in the year 947 AF.