so ripe the sting
that barbe'd spear
Which hooks beneath
mine breast

still pulling me
Too soon, I fear
Into it's sweet
Caress

Upon mine lips
with fragile strokes
To soon begat
It's bliss

of finger tips
which yearn to choke
The heart I'd
hardly miss

Some say with praise
this noble gift
Is life's most
worldy prize

Yet in my days
most lovers shift
to curse my
Lonely eyes

So I, you see
Must search afar
For such fulfilling
Spoils

Still while I sleep
so sings mine heart
To find her spirits
Loyal