Whole Sort Of Genl Mish Mash
A fool to try to clothe true love with words!
When even dreams cannot, true love, contain,
But failure here makes not my song a dirge
When love exceeds the words of this refrain.
My passion surges forth to push my pen.
My clumsy hands try vainly to comply,
But how can I bewail my failure when
Without my love my inkwell would be dry.
So don't lament for me, beloved friend,
For Love's sweet kiss has blessed my wanting brow,
But weep for him who meets his mortal end
Before, on him, Her gift She does endow.
A foolish man, a fool for all to see!
Perhaps a fool, then, I aspire to be.
"Don't confuse me with the facts, I've already made up my mind."