My Dear
I beseech thine own gratitude.
Parting, be it spoken
Or be it a favorable token
Or adieu by the by
Who were thou once
In a matter of deliberate thinking
But the rose that wilts
While the Gardener tends to his own roses.
Be there no just cause
By way of reckoning with
My poorly based manner
I ask your hand
Love be it a thing of adversity
Or diverse confusion
To he who holds no compassion
Hatred still holds not passion
And while I cannot bring myself to love,
Love premieres itself to me.
How Heavens Gaze
Upon star crossed Lovers
And the tide holds true
To a Voyager on a perfumed Sea
Onwards his own own native shore
Love is blind to ties that bind
For you my dear I your lighthouse far
And you my anchor bold
That I ask your hand to hold