It ails me, wondering how it is that so light and sweet a woman can weigh so heavily upon my heart. She must be very dear.
One wishes to speak with me, she has seen the lights through the chinks and is making a great noise
Tell her I have the fever, and I will be telling no lie, for I am ill of this beauty who is torturing my brain
She carries herself in strides of virtue, perfect, so an admirable girl is she
I stand at the door of amorous, she whispers a mutual love, we’re agreed, oh, she’s one to fulfill a mans desire of becoming king, the kings sweetheart she is.
(excerpt’s from unreleased title, not my own stuff)
MYSELF

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