In ways that I cannot offend,
Give me leave lest I ought defend,
The voice of this pet ought you take,
More line her drawings new come to bake,
Least of which my heart nought to take,
For which my whispers come hard to fake,
As clouds descend mine ire so few,
This breathing shard that sounds anew
Come soon in lieu the art ought be known,
How this pet smiles and this ne be thrown,
Trickle tears here, man, this ought you have,
For this hound to be thy counsel ought to have,
How beautiful is it the love she has for you,
How mute am I if not for words to have for you?
You taught me the ways of love before I walked,
You sought my patience in ways I would’ve mocked,
The art of where you stand, to walk street by street,
The rarest find yet most subtly common in sleet,
A man would not walk alone, but ride harsh snow
Not alone, but with hounds to guide his way to fro,
And for this, thy valiant hound nowadays we call dog,
In whom she has lifted the harshest of what we call fog,
This mind ye cleared and happiness here now smiles,
I kiss the thy dog here and bestow you there for miles,
So that when we meet again in hours long turned years again
I shall become the seconds for your minutes to relive again.

Category:
Life, Poetry, Works
Tags:
, , , , , , , , , ,
%d bloggers like this: