Methinks i seen as much of hands as doth the sea of golden sands entangled are, in passion lockd under a spell that chanted love but hands of mine hath not adjoined a softer hand and never foild alone i was, a lonesome lad his heart is numb, his soul is sad his lips a flame that needed rain to quench and to abate the pain his hands a field without a drop of passion for his grief to stop to stop what time hath wrongly errd a complexion most odd and spurrd without a soul likewise his own to lessen pain and chant a tone. a tone that should his heart a flame. give birth and thus erase the shame alas for none doth seem aware to look upon his heart and care for tarts he finds
Posted on: Tue, 04 Mar 2014 06:33:23 +0000
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