My love is as a day that slugs on by,
withers in storm, but look!
how beautiful her landscapes
It is like the cherubs but the glory
yet she lingers on for glory, but not men's
flies her home to others
butter, her lust
till her last
then her soul,
she casts by the willows
Lest not it blooms
her death, no vigil loom, but angels sing!
©
L