Fear.
What an interesting, pretty little word.
Worry not, my dear.
I shall protect you, my sweet bird.

Happiness.
Truly makes one unruly, ungrateful.
So cease, my bird, with this nastiness.
Before you make what we have hateful.

Delight.
Beauty, when left, unkempt.
So, come to bed, it’s far past night.
This is my final attempt.

Fame.
All I’ve wanted.
So i’ll have it, or so I proclaim.
By my problems, I’ll continue to be undaunted.