Stop.
Halt your ceasing want to fornicate my love—
‘Tis not your duty as a person of wisdom
To call me angelic
In my short becoming:

Dear Sir,
I speak no more in these Gardens of Eden,
From whence I came again I shall return,
But not without the spoils of war—

What is it that you require, my friend?

How shall I address this—I will halt to ponder,
Before the answer I blurt—

Tell me, what is it?

Give me your flowers of burden!
I demand this of you,
My Lord and Shepherd—

Dare you say such a dastardly—?

Come off it, they are mine!

Then our fates are surely entwined;

So be it, we will duel—

And, as poets and warriors whisk
Carefully by,
Their prized gems stroll
In white, the flowing color of
Purity and innocence, painted against
The black, a clashing color of
Fear and anger—

Within the scene of carnal desires
The two deploy themselves side by side
With weapons drawn—

Surrender them, my Lord and Teacher!
Their weight is far too great
For an old man to carry—

Both blood and roses sang softly together
When the flock of the Shepherd
Moved ever so forward—

Did you hear my love?

No, go onward—

I am in love again!

What is your meaning?

Both men gazed over each other
In looks of confusion beyond—

Then she pressed forward
And whispered softly,
Elsie and I have picked our berries;

Lord Gainsworthy then smiled,
Fell to the ground with knife in chest,
Be warned, my friend,
He laughingly spoke,
Women will get you—

She turned to Sir Knightly
As his heart throbbed,
Come, do not worry,
We will not bite.