• Beauty is admired by the compassin of thy love
    a garden shall growthrough the trons of a thisle.
    My heart beats on my chest as the wind doest
    the shore. Even though darkness incases me in
    thy walls my lamp flame grow. For it does
    not flicker
    Thy yell of thee sirens shall not cover thy cry of love for thee.
    For thou iss like a golden fleece .
    So thou art with me heart