Trips down lanes filled with memories

Often lead to emptiness which frees

The soul from chains which lock around

A man who is filled with deep sounds



Of passion ventured, and passion spent

For his heart is held in a tight bent

He sees perfection which he's conjured up

And then tries to invoke his will to cup



The object of his desire in his grasp

Someone he has never, ever even asked

And so he continues making his plans

Etching out designs on paper so grand



But when it really truly comes down to it

Nobody is going to give him even a little bit

Of the time he feels he is worth so to her

For she loves another, and will not confer



Her heart, her body, her soul or her mind

On anyone who has shown himself to be unkind

So move away, my fiend, fly back to the nest 

And then peck at tiny eggs, which you do best.



- Tristram