Thou were the merci from God

Shall I describe what the journey was like?

Of these thorny branches and lofty palms

Met a many muse like there

left me with nothing but pain

All our of grief I bleed that onto paper

The value thyself denied

Then the clouds roared with thunder

and amidst all this storm a rose fell

from the sky

Making my bad days a little better

Bewitched by its beauty I pricked thyself

and never stopped bleeding

My beloved; thou are the rose.