.: November 2013

I was angry with my friend

I told my wrath, my wrath did end.

I was angry with my foe

I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears
Night and morning with my tears

and I sunned it with smiles

and with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night
Till it bore an apple bright

And my foe beheld it shine

And he knew that it was mine.

And into my garden stole
whether the night had veil the pole

And in the morning glad i see

my foe outstretched beneath the tree

-the Originals-

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