Love makes of he who cannot bear it a beast
and she who can nature it, true beauty.
Love never cease to exist.
Even in moments when it has been cared for and carried.
Until the very moment it has been sadly buried.
Love, spare him not.
For he who serves outer beauty
may he parish,
May sadness and loneliness be of what he cherish.
May he be doomed to remain a vicious hideous monster.
Should he fall,
May he be loved,
loved by her and with love above all.
YOU ARE READING
My Love for Thee
PoetryEscaping the past in search for a better future and ends up hopelessly in love with nature, it's Beauty and Persona...
