Meine Liebe

Oh love, that fickle mistress, who taunts my heart,

A flame that once was quenched, now reignites its part,

And in its fervor, I am but a moth to flame,

Drawn to her allure, my will, it cannot tame.

This girl, a lass of such exquisite charm,

Aphrodite's kin, with beauty to disarm,

Her voice, a symphony, her eyes, a wonder,

Her grace, a dancer, her mind, a thunder.

I, a mere mortal, am but her humble squire,

A servant to her whims, my love, a raging fire,

Yet, in my heart, a fear, a gnawing ache,

That I may not be worthy, her heart, to take.

For she, a maiden of such erudite wit,

A scholar, philosopher, her mind, a spirit,

Her words, a sword, her thoughts, a raging sea,

And I, a mere mortal, her equal, I cannot be.

Oh love, that fickle mistress, who taunts my soul,

My heart, it beats for her, a drum that takes its toll,

Yet, in my mind, a doubt, a nagging fear,

That I may lose her love, and shed a lonely tear.

So I, a lover, with a heart that beats for thee,

A squire, a servant, forever I shall be,

For in your eyes, a love, that shines so bright,

And in my heart, a flame, that burns with might.

Then The Shadows Thrown A Veil.

Oh dolorous heart, that grieves for love that's gone,

A fire that once burned bright, now ashes strewn,

And in this emptiness, I am but a wraith,

Haunted by the memory of a love now lost to fate.

This girl, a maiden of such ethereal grace,

Aphrodite's kin, with beauty to embrace,

Her smile, a sunbeam, her touch, a feather,

Her heart, a treasure, her love, a tether.

I, a mere mortal, was but her fleeting lover,

A fleeting moment of passion, that could not discover,

The depth of her soul, the mystery of her heart,

A love that could have been, now forever torn apart.

For she, a maiden of such rarefied air,

A poet, artist, her mind, a work of flair,

Her words, a symphony, her thoughts, a mystery,

And I, a mere mortal, her equal, I could not be.

Oh dolorous heart, that grieves for love that's past,

A love that could have been, but never meant to last,

And in this sorrow, I am but a broken man,

Torn apart by the memory of a love that slipped my hand.

So I, a mourner, with a heart that bleeds for thee,

A soul that weeps, forever I shall be,

For in my mind, a love, that never fades,

And in my heart, a wound, that forever aches.