To My Lady

(Written for one particular friend who I hurt. I am sorry. I hope you will forgive.)


Ye lady of nine beauty,
In thy eyes glitter my heart.
The roses you admire,
I never could be.

The fragrance that sprouts life,
I am not.

Neither the green that dresses the petals
Like the darkness within the silver line.

In the gown of a friend,
I clowned the lover,
That I never was meant to be.

The mere man that I am,
Didn’t read the mockery.

And when the curtains fell on me,
I licked my wounds to see,
Trifle as a thorn I am.

Hard and dark as a thorn I am,
Dreadful and painful as a thorn I am,

Bleeds a heart for my sake,
Deeds are daggers in the heart.

Oh! What a thorn I am,
Oh! What a thorn I am.

Plead, I here,
Heed, will you?

When thy rosy cheek caress the blossom,
When its freshness brings spring to you,

May this crushed little thorn come along,
I promise not to hurt