Death divides, my purpose,
Love had made, it wine,
Your lilies, when worn, on crown, so high,
Drew to knew, the nectar, from, the sigh.
As when God, bent his knee,
Your loving God, had bent, his knee.
And I gave a ring, to thy finger,
So that thou, would accompany me.
You are not devilish, on my barren lands,
You, with your ivory face, and porcelain cheeks,
A heart of ruby, though wrapped, in thorns.
A quake hurls, my empathy across,
A child pules, to the breast, and its emptiness.
I gave my platter, for the servant, to witness,
A mighty feast, on thy lips, of cherry.
Your beauty, and your fossilized form,
Were many, in the hues and shades,
I still allowed, a treat to be consumed,
Of perked lips, and even raven tress.
Lovely, when thou, would accompany me,
On the serpentine roadway, to my dwelling,
For thy frailty, is next to loathing,
At the pity, and scorn, of my promise.