O Solomon how jealous your noble soul,
which delights in beautiful women and palace floors.
The depths of my pocket you will never know,
your violet robes, my servants wore.
Twiddling between my fingers, the earth spins
with every tangible desire within arm's reach.
But high on a shelf lays the mythological den
in which resides the woman's favor I seek.
Though possessor of tenfold of that of Job,
Lord of Julius and all which he acquired,
My treasures meaningless without her to hold,
my heart unquenched, beaten, and tired.
To gain the world and not her hand,
in my heart, a lowly man. |
Submission Name: The Empty Golden Well
