Call me not be it your love is gold,
Absent me from your raging sentiment so cold.
Love is Anathema, whose roots are pleasures
Not to incline but be spent beyond measures.

No. No! No! sense of it all,
Is life so on the roll.
But dear Princess neglect me not, when I utter 'No inclination help won't be gold'
Love is not silver nor can you fake it gold.

Roses are precious to give, a pleasure for them who receive
But woe they be deceived!
Love's named romanticism bared by givers who give
Yet love's far a mystery from romantic gifts, she is
beyond what men can give.

Call me not be it your Zest is gold
Love is silver, love is stars in this world so cold..