To love another soul,
never met
yet to kiss
My Pan
Where art thou?
I flew
But for a bit
and wouldst thou leavest mine heart upon
the dine
For The Feast Of All Saints?
Knowing such self called ones,
you, my Pan,
would be the cruel amongst the cruel!!
What heart have I?
For your poetry, my heart
not to pick upon it
forbidden piece by peice,
bit,
by
longful bit
And what doest givest unto me,
I
but a small thing
Except thine heart?
I long for naught
But words
your words
That they adorn my shoulder,
as I've,
adorned thine.~A