Enchanted by your presence,
damneded by your testy resolve,
I know no remedy to this happenstance
but I can only await my lovers return,
flesh whetted with mulberries and thistle
eyes frosted with remembrance.
At the fresh, warm breeze of Midsummer eve,
we shared a kiss of mulled wine,
and bit down on rowan bark.
An enchanted dream of illest tumbles,
making love, twining with scattered hay,
but I knew no other course
as it was against my nature to wonder.