My heart was like an open window,
Yet, here I am wearing a green willow,
How did I end up with plight?
For like a candle, I gave up myself to give light.

Love, have I not out-prayed the devil?
Or is she someone else as well?
Didn’t my heart resound through hers?
Or did she grow small ears?

Sonnet! Sonnet! Oh dear sonnet,
Did you grow thorns whilst in her heart?
She gave you iron curtains
But still, words flew to me and it pains.

Rove within reach of my eyes, dear;
For further poetry dies and only rain rhymes.