For I can come no more near
To see you from afar, I fear
Feelings I wish I knew to be clear
Your nose not grown from whence a baby
Hair of a kitten, pleasurable to touch
Your smile doth make me merry, to see you merry
Not solely beauty, which is so much.
The sight of her silent suffering
Lays like lead in my lungs
Open to me not her pains
For fear of salted sores
Unclosed wound remains
No healing hands of mine shall honour
No tender voice I can muster
That her pain shan't turn to Song of Stone.
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