Oh fulsome letter thou art meant for him
Thy words speak mine lingering heart and thought
Tell him of how mine stomach is in a knot
Of how the warmth and light have become dim
Sing the words with the heartbeat as a hymn
In the midst of morn the storm I besought
Life hath no reason without him, it cannot
I shall wait and seek of love on the limb
But love hath overmany puzzles now
Perhaps he dost not wish to hear from ye
Thau shall stay in my pocket evermore
Tonight we will forget him, this I vow
Henceforth only mine soul shalt wit my soft plea
The wretched curse is lifted, named amór.