The Poet's Always Little Careless
The poet's always little careless
He's not so neat, he isn't shaved,
He's dreaming, he's serene, he's labelless,
He speaks too much, it's not so great.
His soul is frail, it can be wounded,
It's easy to disturb his rest,
But you're not tolerable, do it,
Blow pain with rhyme, my wanted guest,
I love you I won't let excuses,
I love you so, my proud lass,
Amorous fever gives abuses
and torments sweet in heavy breath.
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