Soft and familiar sorrow
but narrated, by me, this time in the third person.
I, the narrator, in this case, feeling by proxy
the sorrow that my love feels now.
A loss he wasn't ready for,
has never endured before,
he cries, and then so I.

And yet there is love.

( Isn't that life?
At the end of every story of sorrow, you
could punctuate with that and it'd be true. )

Oh, how he handles these things, so much love
so much grace.
Even as sadness rolls down his face,
his mind still fixed on things above

Lightly given,
her heart to me.
I will never betray.

The secrets of ***,
The way she turned me ‘round her,
As clean as well water.

I cried.
I was in her and taking in what a perplexity she was.

“I, at long last,” says she, “have given you myself.”
She is all I ever wanted.

My lady,
So desirous,
Give me you;
Your tenderness.