Sweet Cynosure
For the dove and the good of all her love;
Life blood from pen-points paint out an halo.
Thy hallowedness, thy silvery rivers flow
into my flower box. My barn's sprouts live.
Winsome birds bed my head, nestle vainly,
for your soaring blisses make null kisses.
Blue baby I am, my heart throb lisses,
your blue blood on my blue book rhymes gaily.
Her smiler rosy and nesh jingles bells
and the lilies of Lilith are livid.
The blossoms bloom, and my soul kiss avid;
She slobbers winey honey in my dwells.
Her swells dispel spells, and I spell out laud;
words ward off unyoung, life to her young blood.
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