Leave me to my own peace
A beguiled idealist,
Of a human instinct to procreate.
We are a manifestation of God’s propagation.
Of lust and shallow sentimentality,
There is nothing that bonds us.
I expect you to do things that I don’t,
We embody nothing higher,
No embellished claims.
Why do we gull ourselves in lascivious pretence?
That we offer to this time,
At least a memorable toast,
Of love and feeling never lent afore.