F’r their i wast
waiting in the bruit of silence
of h’r soul
making me rememb’r
the m’rning
in which i wast mourning
f’r nay one
except myself
but only
f’r losing who is’t i am
to the myst’ry
yond who is’t art thee
coequal soft’r than chaos
coequal quaint then Lucifer
and doth thee knoweth who is’t thou art
oh, thou art me
just a did bite transf’rm’d
haply a did bite of troubleth with owneth
but doth thee knoweth wherefore thee hath changed
it’s f’r h’r and nay one else

the lady wast up their
waiting in the peak of the mountain
requesting a shareth in mine own deep dark
fountain of loveth
in which blood flow’d
in h’r nameth
into mine own heart
wherefore the lady hadst just hath left broken
i don’t knoweth wherefore
yond wast liketh yond
in h’r i hadst some reigneth
fallen, broken just liketh kraken
having the wrath of titans
but still mineth
,i wast hath left apart
i didst did get what i des’rv’d
but still
i doth has’t yond flowing blood
of loveth
yond calleth h’r nameth

I don’t knoweth who is’t art thee
oh, i haply just knoweth thee
one of the lady in the crowd of men
waking up and being loud
fighting liketh oth’rs in the raceth
thee don’t knoweth those folk
but thee visage
thou art been craz’d
but thee behold amaz’d
having a pen
thee wanteth to square a war
f’r nothing
but only to stayeth far
being did love ‘r did hate
thee shouldst beest appreciat’d
because thou art the writ’r
who is’t i am did dedicate

Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton