Tuning of Fiddle
And tuning of fiddle,your voice vibrate along the strings
The strums of lute echoes far beyond and rhymes
The songs of a praise flows and clings
With an autumnal bare bough of winters rimes
My poor heart creeps and you please let it sway
In truth the poets heart is small like leveret
I plucked you a flower from the redolent
bouquet
And heaven knows a flower or your face of claret
Here comes my lovely nymph inch by inch nearer
O'god heaven is mine eye seeing a lissome sylph
Ruffled and tattered and struck the mine answerer
Was she the mayan people a words in their glyph?
And what so more to expect for mine brow to hold ?
The dewes of eyes or the snow of cold
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