Alack thee heart of mine, why tread in tragedy?
Erelong 'twas said 'to meddle has no remedy'
For love is but tragedy in its state of bliss
And gluts passion maugre the love that is amiss
Which leaves nothing but thy own selfish grief
And that awf'd lovely euphoric kiss;
That I favor every now
And find it I avow
For as I meddle in twixt in its own affairs
And all of it consumes me and sanity it impairs
My quest becomes an eternal strife of that bliss
of that awf'd lovely euphoric kiss
Which shall flood me with a plethora of such joy.
Oh I am infatuated by this suffering all the more
And Nay I shall be in twain up until nevermore!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.