To err is not so much as is to take,
the very heart of one you hold so dear.
So lest you strive for said to you, forsake,
displace that sheen of stiff and tense austere.
To claim again the broken heart once lost,
bestow upon the owner words of gold.
To save you from high shrieks that scream, “Accost!”,
your beating heart should glow and not be cold.
Should gilt edged language fail to do the trick,
sincerity and honesty you wield.
The nuances of love are so mystic,
the broken iron heart is bound to yield.
So ever should you find the need to cry,
object of thy affection will stand by.

LOW WU YANG

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