Poetry

(after Sir Thomas Wyatt)

She flees from me in her iniquity,
are very wild
as if I have brought her some kind of harm,
but only mild
I treat this forsaking newfangleness,
still like a child
I do trust that our love will overcome
that I will eventually lead her home.

There was a time of some ultimate joy
when in sweet bliss
her clothes from her entire body did fall,
where a sweet kiss
was an innermost kind of opening,
and now there’s this
sudden kind of strange change in her mind,
to her I have been only very kind.

[Reference: “They Flee from Me” by Sir Thomas Wyatt.]