The morrow’s lark, the midnight dark,
The hue of noon, the evening’s moon,
Such evening’s moon, with Sun pairs,
And to such Sun, your warmth compares.
.
The hue of noon, your gentle croon,
Both cause the men to sway and swoon,
Both cause the men death and decay,
Your touch like heatstrokes in mid-june.
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The midnight dark is heaven’s light,
When held against your heart, a blight,
A pitch black heart with empty veins,
No morals known, no binds nor reins.
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The morrow’s lark will sing for me,
My elegy, your eulogy,
Another Poet falls for thee,
One more life, no apologies.