I walk through the valley of lost sorrow,

Through the never-ending dark alleyways,

Seeking that which runs into the shallow

But ever-deepening, lengthening maze.

I seek the one of cursingly born

As IT searches for ITS next searching soul,

My OWN feelings nothing but mis-forlorn,

As my heart should not be found to a-toll

For that which it must never find weeping eyes.

I must never search and obtain desire,

For brotherly love must always demise,

As a heart is lit burning a-fire.

            For that is what brotherly love most is:

            Stealing from the lesser for a Miss.