Since thou for moons many dost not partake thy passion
From thee, humility quietly escort'th her entirety of heart
Prudent time doth nakedly reveal punctuality precise
Didst thou want to break heart virgin?
Proud of pain thou wouldst wear like a flower crimson
An auroral stain bleeding to thy cuff,
Prize triumphant shown and mock'd to thy guests most favoured
Stage centre would be a solitary tatter'd flower of small worth
held,
Bleeding heart if split would love's fragrance smell
Save for thy nose was thy most fragrant choicest
Aromatic headiness now pruned and cut,
E'en sharpest knife ill-used doth lose his edge
For to be another season, sweet-scented flower next
Albeit unforgotten silhouette of all those since patterned
Farewell ! Precious bloom ne'er to be seen thy unseen sweetness of thy flower sweetest.
`T. Imaan Tretchicovmanicova