A poet suffers for his part;
In penning that which stains his heart...

Tho' I have aged, her grave appears as new;
Instilled in time with time that stole her youth...

Shall I reveal how oft my thoughts are yours?
As plenty as the stars do maze the sky...

When I behold the blossom hues of spring
My eyes unfurl into the buds of hope...

Go find for me in all of botany;
The rarest rose amidst the sweetest mire...

I wonder which will greet me when I die;
The arch of angels or the scorching pit...

It does appear to me that souls' deceased;
Whom died by cancer's deadly spread of mole...

If I have ever lived to feel pure love;
No footprint of that love did leave in me...

If dreaming paths the way to where you are
Then why has none to you, so taken me...

I write of grievance to the Reaper's will;
Who'll take me nether, just tho' it will be...

Take all the light until i'm out and deep
That I may linger where you rest in me...

To whom would rush a wound from love, with love:
Let take a caution deep where your wound bleeds...