When you feel like Gods are nothing
And the mortal body’s all,
Then it means you ain’t a loving
But a falling blow-by-blow.
While the cope of deepest night
Hides the love from wistful sight,
Your heart may be roughly hurt
And its answer will be curt.
Must you have a heap of passion
And a willingness to cope
With this hardest-time depression
Plus the wound that might stay ope.
Wait a day, that comes as sudden,
Take away the thoughts you brood.
Don’t be gruel, be so ardent
As a lover being groomed.