Oh dear muse my zeal for you is so profuse
Oh muse I feel so unused
Debarred of that lingering gaze
Debarred of my flesh awake or an avid grin
Perpetually behoved to stay ashen
No yearner in sight
All have left to write or your praise
Their heart besotted their mind in haze
For your beauty plummets their craze
What of my sullen face?
How ever shall this daunting envy replace?
To be whispered and not sighed
To lay in arms while I cried
For my imperfection to be a myth
To have not fears within sit
To not ***** while they search for their rose
I have envy and I am afraid it shows