That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold
Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth steal away,
Death’s second self, which seals up all in rest.
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.
— William Shakespeare
English poet
The juice of ((it)) on sleeping eyelids laid
Will make or man or woman madly dote
Upon the next live creature that it sees.
Fetch me this herb, and be thou here again
Ere the leviathan can swim a league
^ ((it)) being a magical flower,’Cupid’s Flower,’ referenced in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Usage of such a potion is not my style; they need to actually want me, forced love is fucking false love. And the ‘make or man or woman’ bit is odd ain’t it, but that is what was wrote (supposedly so).
In this regard, the context of fairytale, see: Charles Perrault
As lonely as a fucking one-trick pony; yeah this is me now, this has been me since my well deserved abandonment; I did not show the appreciation that I should have; I didn’t know how to show true love to my priceless Gulf pearl…
Anna Bidoonism 