In lunacy and in normalcy,
In malady and wellness,
In frustration and serene,
I ask for your hand
As I am not complete but completed
And not content but enraptured
And not trusting but imagining;
I want you to be mine,
For misery has yet to thwart fancy,
And the chippings speak thirsty lonesome
How could my eyes stand sight at all?
If you and I were not an evermore
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