Won't thou to his demand submit?
Alas thou whom I thought a friend.
From others thou accept any silly gift,
And from me only thou accept the wind.

Times, I have tried many and still,
My love in thy heart is under the shade,
Thrive; my heart has not yet to fill,
Moaning, dying, my heart is to fade.

Rising, fighting to survive, my heart is to try,
Phoenix of the ashes is my faded ticker,
Leaving his nest, that bird to cry,
Healing my wounds, thy heart is the maker.
*
Won't thou to his demand submit?
Thus my doom thy heart is the one to fit.