What may please,
Is a rolling moss
Buh all I see,
Is a love dose.

Her premier eyes,
Sees less of
Mists of time.
And my gentle smile,
Is freeze by stream of ice.

Her softie care,
Is in my heart charmed.
My prolonged grief,
Slashed
Her sure relief.

The thought of her mortal beauty,
Seduced my immortality.

But what nerves have I
To make a move?
For I do not rhyme
Nor mime.

And as such,
I stood my space
Shaking
Like Shakespeare.

For when ease comes,
My will,
Is ill.