a lengthy old English style poem
|The once waning moon, she sits at full
tis years and years my heart doth pull,
towards thee now with a watchful gaze
tis now thy love to me enslaved
my mind doth wonder to and fro
thy loving heart, where tis he go?
thy moon wane many a time
I ask thy simple, sincere, and soft
where thy love forever lost?
"Be it not" quoth the heart
who's cruel love set thee apart
must be my future cold and bleak?
a broken home, a fateful streak
always entangled are the mellow
but the hate of most hearts contain thee
therefore thy moon shalt still wane
and shalt love be yet just a spawn?
to ones true heart's desire seek
by thy mellow and not for thy weak