I know little of the fury
And the misanthropic scurry
Of the little ones inside ourselves,
That we hide awashed away.
Of what I do know daunting,
Is the image left so haunting
In the visage of so wanting
And the love I lead astray.
She came and went so tragically
And took her perfect majesty
I think myself so callously,
That I could never her betray.
Were I spared a single gaze,
From eyes I could spend countless days,
I would dream of every way,
To have her not so far away.