Never Think Me a Flirt
Never think I am false at heart,
Nor me a liar, or a flirt.
Though my staggering speaks against me,
It is but the maiden look which the real culprit be.
Melting is the prime nature of wax,
And by feminine warmth we men, like it, get lax.
Even the greatest sages of remote past
Could not withstand it to remain steadfast.
For the restlessness of robust sea
Only the maiden moon responsible be,
Who with her bewitching charm does enthrall
And makes the sea’s constancy fall.
Although with earth sea vows to adhere,
But before a maiden look his steps do waver.
If in constancy nature makes men lame,
Why do on me dear you put all your blame.
This deflection is sportive and untrue,
And my true devotion is only for you.
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