Lady, how can i write you
love poems at this hour.
How can i ogle
with this fiery night.
In its workshop,i can hear
loud hunger cries.
Men die like flies
embracing the fire.
In this night's furnace
we can boil our blood
to celebrate till dawn.
Let’s teach our hungry
peasants some
romantic verse.
And then sell their appetite.
Let their alarming cries
inspire more poets and poems.
And their throbs be the
alliterations.And, dear,
wait till the new dawn
for my love packed
words ahead.
