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.