Troubles troubles,
on the doubles,
Haste in the spring,
gone like a print,
Hourglass of days,
cast aside like hays;
Promised ways,
or mere play?
Change is at hand,
but reluctant I am;
Right or wrong?
yet its just a song,
Was it time of days,
or days that timed?
Things feel so blocked,
Like birds that flew in flocks.
Take time to rest?
or to confess?
Was it not feelings,
that took the prime prince?
Cursed the days may be,
blinded my eyes may be,
Give up will not,
or be tying the knot.
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