If Jealousy be a poem
Written in the deepest spite
Would it read of raining blossoms
Or be cold as frigid night
For the coldest glare seems to suggest
The second to be true
Whilst another glance be begging
For these eyes to soften too
Alas, for all these longing stares
Must unknowing be in vain
For these eyes that those be dieing for
Be that of just a friend
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