our paths, Thisbe, but I shall not
the sword fall on, but whisper
these silent hymns of praise
for that wonder other side
wall of for beauty, the sound
of your voice once breath
upon my earlobes, tongue's
tales woven crafter-strong and shared
I honor, sharing my own song and shall
paint murals this side the fresco,
portraits of that poetess
whose enchantment I do adore,
and be not despaired, no matter
the lioness walks, for she
carries invisible the heart's
holy queen to test
o'er walls whom love stays true.
