All the points that I must make
But to soothe with lute and tabor
So the yawning beast will slake
Its own appetite, and slumber
So that I can be at rest
And the heads surpassing number
Will lay down at my request;
So my writing is required
By my own internal needs
Because love ever desired
To explore the place it feeds
And so I write love because
It's what this lover does.
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