Time runs apace, my darling bard
And mind rush wildly to know how shard,
And how splitters thy days hath lingered
Does thou know thy scribbles gladdens my need?
Through what i can whisper and those i cannot utter,
Thy scribbles to be of truth sputter,
Is the best,but so grave people sees not,
What can happier make their days nought
To brood, with divine words that gladdens the view
And to tell of how thy pleasant verses, ward my woes;
I happier cannot name what exactly it had done
But to thee my bard proclaim alone,
That no past nor present bard can match thy paw
Thou may see my...