Dane Anne

this enchantment it cannot be measured it cannot be weighed it cannot be told in time or days yet here it is as i'll describe tis in my riding tis in my play tis in my working each and everyday my worship has dwindled my real prayers are sinful and my god is a genie who's bottle is covered with sand my love is the maid Dane Anne and thousands of suitors have ask for her hand all dressed like princes in gem's and furs lined with red and purple silk armed with jewel encrusted stilleto's and gold belts capes with gold and silver tapestry all with original designs of family crest Noblemen and boys riding every kind of fanciful horse smooth, brushed and well feed but their confidence is all but drained by shear number of similar suitors but beauty and prize will not let them leave and such as i but in much lesser degree of nobility a commoner, a peasant, a spoiler one who would pluck the flower before it was meant to be plucked one who's eyes have been challenged beyond lust one who's faith has come to believe that this fair maid Dane Anne belongs to me alone no man has suffered as much as i to be over looked as a suitor a sore in one's eye yet no one can care more or even try for her hand i give all and perhaps i'll die for all my waken moments find her haunting still this magic over me it must be her will can such beauty cast such an evil spell that if thinking for myself; i cannot tell or is there a cupid a godly spell one that takes my willingness under his own will perhaps possessed by a spirit who through love can only live empowered by my weakness demanding that all i give but such this state i am and complain, i do not for such a gift is love that will never be forgot