Bide

Motion that thy second's will is fleeting, like love standing still does sire away with rostrum's bill. And thee concern it latent, 'til ~ Thy spirit spaces, knows refill is life to own but heart to skill and pursuit of thy gain seems nil because of lacking fame until ~ A love does fire thee to graze thy own contention not in phase. As suddenly, life has no wage ~ expectancy replaces rage. And so I know in thee love stays, thee are within my wanton ways, that freedom insurrects its praise, and livelihood excels no craze! Thee then, need nothing more to hide where love once floundered ~ now is wild. We, true of self, not fused with pride become one ~ livery to thy bide!