A fabled song, half-wrong, that hungry whisper
I've learned, my love, that Time's a lonely jester
With pranks, that cad, half-mad, does seek to slay it:
You lovely countenance, my dear, so say it:

But whisper to me words that can subdue me
But three I yearn to hear from you, spoke truly
A half of one would give Him pause to wonder
Just what He's faulting with His maddened blunder:

Those eyes, that blue, serene and laughing lightly
O'er smiling lips; I live to kiss them nightly.
Soft freckled skin, gave in, I did to love you
With whisp'r'd oath: no one be placed above you.

So speak, nae yell, nae sing!...those beauteous phrases
Before the moon completes her next three phases
And He would stop His marching for just so long
As it would take for me to write your beauty into song.

Like fine wine, dearest.

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Chronos, in the year 448 AF.