Can a heart of dim speak of bright? Or a bitter soul of it's delight? Can a dying pupil a shine behold? Or a shallow pond, depth give abode? And so of thee to speak I shall not doth But let a hymn so bleak To thee be cloth Nor shall I to wonderous fair As stars and suns to thee compare Await not my presence, the fourthcoming tryst Unfold thy petals, await the bee For out of the silky veins of thy wrist To me return with thine honey That is mine exaltation That is mine hymn to thee That such humble a creation Shouldst cloth you in majesty
Reason for writing:
the usual
Birth sign: Cancer
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