The wind of a true heart does often care
about the music flowing trough the grim-
faced sensations growing t’wards the rim
and faithful longs for those who try and dare.
Take care, my brother, ‘cause you may not see
what too much love can nurture and entwine,
a blindness that you never saw the same,
you may as well get lost of you, prithee
be careful when you give your inner core.
For one is your heart, and once you lost your hoard
a lute you will become, with want for chord,
a single time you’ll sound and then no more.
As precious as it looks, what you’ll have got
I pray you, don’t forget what you’ll have lost.