When you put fingers on my heart hole,

22
When you put fingers on my heart hole,
The heart gives sad music full of woes,
Cuckoos listen to it from the South Pole,
Sitting in the trees happily in lovely rows
Your love teaches me not to love again.
Your love full of sorrow I cannot bear;
Your eyes enchant me therefore I fain
I weep when all my dying wills appear.
Your love, your lips and your pink breast,
The reflections of Heaven here I consider,
And in your shadow the older takes rest:
As on false hope lives the foolish leader.

I write not your lie but expose your truth,
You look me more pretty with pretty ruth.