Perdóname

I stoppeth my love for thee, 

and I beg and plead for mercy.

For I had stopped loving when the old people died, 

I stopped and I watched and batted not even my eye.

I had stopped loving when disgusted by relation, 

I hath stopped to be patient and any cause for elation 

had been a source of dissemination, of my soul which I could not find. 

We've had axes to grind but none was sharper than the axe that you put through my hind. 

Love for me is the ancient as the Mayan civilization, 

Like a bee who fidgets on his own sting's sensation. 

I realized that love is well wrought in the penman's parchment, 

Dead-living ploughing the water in his failure of detachment. 

The universe has her heart broken over this fate, 

Even the leaves have begun to shed their tear dews for love that's insatiate.