She slaps to the left, to the right,
My love here is not worth the fight,
Mine hour in public is come for new,
In my glowed eyes her eye follows
Whilst one pitied and one in scorn,
Every day of life was reborn.
Echoes from the club were music,
Mine heart fused to beat off the wick
Ere light aflame my face how spat
Brought her arms on my neck now sat
By stronger force no man to defy that,
She offered tender words my true self,
In whom my mask having provided such wealth,
Could not withstand her words and burn,
Though I give freely my life to learn,
Could never see the mirror myself to yearn,
And had she not seen my true self to earn,
Then not I in the square that meets here
Am I not humble then, Madam? My dear,
Who then I shall dance to love and hate,
As bitter tone in scorn shall rouse me late,
Who knew then am I this much a man though less,
But I shall lift my mask and twice not my guess,
For man as I am, as lady as you shall be,
This life we have was never right for me.

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Life, Poetry, Romance, Works
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