This is the tale of how this bloke's heart heave.
Of a feeling he now wears on his sleeve.
For two years he sent cupid to scuttle,
Engaging reality in a battle.
Braced up, he went thither, sheathing his sword.
He would go now and with her have a word.
His sweet miss Tee, of bone, of flesh, and blood.
Time had been when from this he sought to leave.
But t'was she whom his full beauty did weave.
She in him, back and forth, like a shuttle.
These emotions shut he in a bottle,
But now in them he drowns like in a flood.
Can she rescue? Can she to him be lord?
His dear miss Tee, of bone, of flesh, and blood.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem