Words, what confusing traps!
To stall the poor unwary,
Why couldn't I write a map,
To show reveal'd the Lay of my love.
For as containers, they are but poor,
And cannot bind the essence to't.
Like the ocean held to the shore,
Tis madly untrue and truly opposite.
Notice how! In more restricted play,
Purer feelings are thus distilled.
From songs and poems, doth beauty ray,
Unfetter'd by those stony rocks.
Its best I speak to thee confuse.
For thus do I speak mostly True.

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Ero, in the year 379 AF.