If poetry could amend my visage;
Its rhythm melt away a dozen years,
Allowing prose or rhyme power to bridge
The chasm twixt concupiscence and fear,
I would dedicate my verses for thee;
Endeavouring ever to coax your smile
With little songs proclaiming its beauty –
Confessions composed in a heart beguiled.
But, cursed by time, what words can I bestow
That might defy fortune and win thy kiss?
Lady; you make me more fool than poet;
Courting doom as age mocks my search for bliss.
Oh, Muse; goddess of creativity;Thy grace shall achieve immortality.