Oh, how I judged before I knew!

How soft thou wouldst feel as I held thee in mine hand.

Thy first touch twas enchanting —

I never hath knew a thing so soft

Before thy thin skin was rested upon mine limb.

I mocked those who hath said they wished to feast upon thee,

Alas, I now feel that samest desire.

Why, prithee, mine tide pod,

Do thou hast such a texture of lust?

Thy soft delicate nature

Doth heavy make my soul

For I be privy to the secret

That thine taste

Is assurance of death.

Still I crave thee, mine tide pod,

Holden as thou mayest be;

I shalt never have thee.