O lady don’t be slave of your willful will:

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O lady don’t be slave of your willful will:
Killed like a cricket by her own scheme,
Obduracy and false pride want you to kill,
Emotions kill wisdom my heart’s scream.
All beloveds worship their lovers’ faults,
That shines on mind like sands in desert.
Mentors fall in trouble therefore who halts,
All die before time when love-wishes dart.
When some says you I love you more,
Deceive reason and receive false promise,
If you are a bit wise, trust not in whore,
Low-love demands money for a pretty kiss.

My sweet love to you is above the sky,
If you angry with me my poor love, die.