Richard.
Part of my life.
Part of my soul.
Part of my breath.
His blood is mine, just as mine is his.
And in his veins flows my love, as how his
streams tranquilly through mine.
Thou art th' light of my life, fire of my *****.
My sin, my soul. My beauty, my pride,
my ever inadequate, eternal redemption.
And th' light t'at streameth from thy eyes
is even bluer than mysterious harvest skies.
Ah, Richard, thou beareth away all my worries;
thou slaughtereth away my dire mistakes
and breathless past sorries.
Oh, Richard, thou art my boy,
and which boy in t'is world
does not want to spring about-
and into th' pair of open arms
t'at are ready to welcome thee?
Every laughter of thee is my parody,
but tears of thee are my misery;
Thou art forever my grateful sunlight,
and in thy innocent young heart
t'ere is neither fear, nor grief, nor fright;
Thou put myself at ease at day
and give me my courteous dreams at night,
thou art more than pure gold can pay;
and even what truth canst judge as right.

Richard, my precious young Richard
Soon as I captured thy words,
I was trapped in thy epic worlds;
I fell in love with th' invisible thee,
ah, and at t'at time, not my fleshy thee;
but thy fruitful, lively words so keen
in front of me, on my deep blue screen.
Richard, thou deafened my heart and soul
And as dusk send days grim and cold
It was on thy words I happened to hold;
I thought about thee whenever I ate
Hoping t'at thou wouldst somehow be my fate.
I thought about thee again as I went to bed,
and in my dreams, thou wouldst remain
to smile and make my both cheeks red.
When thou once refused to appear
I was filled with gray dread and fear;
For hours I'd refuse to eat
My heart could not wait for us to meet!
Ah, Richard, th' bluest skies are in thy eyes,
and even t'ere as thou greet sunrise.
Even 'til now, t'ey are still t'ere,
as thou promised thou wouldst not go anywhere
But to stay for endless years ahead with me,
in th' name of love's gratefulness, and mercy.
Oh, Richard, if only th' heavens could see,
as t'at day I jumped about and kissed thee,
t'ey would arrogantly curse and spurn our lips,
for uttering a young love t'at was just too deep;
t'eir holiness wouldst be burnt by jealousy;
t'eir little hearts wouldst become poor, for envy.

But, Richard, to me thou art th' heavens themselves;
tell me again, th' stories of old egoistic elves,
t'at once went to steal ripe fruits in God's garden.
Ah, and whenst thou told me of which,
I hated th' young girl all of a sudden,
for I wanted to be as pretty and rich
and thee th' prince t'at I danced with.
And how t'ose staring eyes canst be so ripe-
as we glanceth about us, at resting hours
With disdain and darkness, though by daylight
But at times t'ey can shamelessly asketh for our favours
I detest t'em for which, and t'eir howling false scrutiny
Overwhelming pride, but in all joyless ignominy
T'ey know not t'ey are indeed in misery;
for to t'em misery is gladness,
and gladness is glee-
But indeed, thou art t'em not, my love!
Thou, who art as sunny as delight,
and as charming as bliss.
Thou, as always, art my blessings-
my salvation lies in thy heart;
and thy gentle sweet kiss.

Ah, Richard, and t'is poem I dedicate to thee
My very own lover and beloved,
my dearest and best friend.
Thou art worth all th' happiness in my story;
thou art my perfect hero and loving man.
And all th' prayers I had sent upwards
Wert answered just right afterwards;
And it is in thee, my love, where th' answer lies;
Thou wert my Lord's most hearty present and surprise,
My future love is fated in thine;
as how thy very own one, in mine.

Richard, we are as immersed in each other's breath,
just as our vow shall stay together until death;
Thou art th' best my soul dreamed of;
th' only one worthy of my love.
And in t'is life, thou art th' promise,
A fate I should taste, a joy I shan't miss.
Oh, Richard, whatever you do,
all is simply too genuine and true,
I hath found my love with eyes so blue;
and as I pray, I know it's you.

Fierce bushes amongst snowcapped trees
Look at how glad t'ose honeybees!
With honey sweet and voices so fair,
flow about t'ey merrily in pairs.

Just like our quickening pace of breath;
filled with desires t'at we prayed for.
Sweat t'at comes in small buds and wreaths;
breathing t'at grows heavier and sore.

Passion is all we shall have felt,
so is wholeness we once thought of.
Thy charm as immortal as death,
thy spell as eternal as love.