In vanity have I climbed the ladder

Up to a hill that my heart wishes

To slumber on than that virtue upon his soul.

As god is well aware of it

His bounty dwelling on my fingers

And my mind

To embrace or to settle.

Then have I spewed genuine thoughts

In lines and in stanzas

Yet, doth I never ventured on

The others, rhymes, rhymes of meters and rhythms;

In fear to misinterpret myself

In pronouncing the gifts caught alongside the stair;

Yet, don’t consider them

For what he manifested in his hearts

And not his beauty for the mouths and eyes.

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