Dear Sire
Dear Sire, minstrel and poet oh most dear
prithee doth tell whilst thou with quill adore
thine art of rarest breed, mine heart doth peer
whereon I do beseech thee write me more
of yesterday's sweet sinks, for ne'er in hie
didst ask of thee, why doth mine eyelids sleep?
such was the word upon ye lips to die
for sake of passion is to live in deep
E'er mine memory serveth long and true
aside the likes of you none else shouldst do
forsaking all the glories of a strangers brew
I choose thine own to rest upon thy dew
Oh flower of incarnadine and shine
in dainty maketh dearth as rare as thine
Copyright © Mystic Rose Rose | Year Posted 2018
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