From the neighbour’s tip of rise
Out of hate, the daughter of love,
And the son of her, I am born
They kindle the fire and I burn
I eat up their soul’s flesh and they ache
Yet they do all out of love and do without knowledge
To have what others have but they do not
In disguise I am ‘admiration’ though they know not
So one needs much wisdom to unlace the knot
By which I now bind them with me too tight.
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