Because for you in Love I scribed,
     And now I chastened lie,
A bitter Truth I have imbibed;
    Of how hearts come to die.
For metaphor of Love I yearned,
It's kin to stars' bright, zesty burn.

But don't be fooled to think that I,
    Devote all I hath writ to you,
For man who stamps on butterfly,
    Is not the one to woo.
I am a poet, touched by joy,
There will be another boy.