She will be the brightest of them all, I'm sure-
My Lady love, my sweet white dove.
She is bound to exist, myself do I assure,
But does she? Does she?
...
Pitter, patter, dribble-drop,
All the way from the top,
Where little white clouds gallop.
...
Hurtling soundlessly thro' the air,
I began my horrendous descent;
High above from the devil's lair:
Thrust from the jaws of ensnarement.
...
Love as such I've never felt,
Love that's fair and true;
Love that strikes below the belt,
Yet, love I shan't ever rue.
...
For Her.
She will be the brightest of them all, I'm sure-
My Lady love, my sweet white dove.
She is bound to exist, myself do I assure,
But does she? Does she?
There are voices in my head, soft and enchanting-
Always scheming, and endeavouring to lure
Me, into believing their every lie and canting;
They push and they shove and clamour to be heard:
Once in the past, with lies did I myself gird;
Now I dish out push for push and shove for shove-
Oh! Why don't they let me be?
I do truly love her, this creature in my mind,
But does she exist? Does she?
I think of her often with glee,
And find her I will, before she is carried away by the wind.