I wanted the glory of my love to be heard,
So I whispered it on the breeze to a nightingale.
But, alas, that dreadful bird,
Turned out to be a goose with a tall tale.
She twittered of my crush,
As if it were not the burning bush,
But merely throwaway, momentary trash.
My pride took an almighty crash,
As I saw my heart's ideal shrunken
To the spectacle of huge, ghastly
Runaway genitals, isolated on legs.
For all the kids kiss without much ken;
They will try to project onto you what is most nasty,
Surrounded by a bubonic racket and beer kegs...
And even in the grown-up world,
Your adoration will be equally slurred.
Thus, I learned to keep my love a secret,
Hidden by cruel gestures and lewd acts.
It is the stuff of black initiation and blood pacts;
Even holy writ is too vulgar, it only serves to cover it.
For the most honor one can do all that is best,
Is to keep it forever close to one's chest.