The heart I have found, in her breast where it pounds,
Completely confounds and resounds with the sound
of the souls that are bound and devotedly drowned.
For her love they sink down in darkness abound.
For she is the gowned, the queen to be crowned,
And we are the clowns so humbly allowed
To completely surround our mistress like hounds.
To beg on the ground at her feet, at her mound,
Yet looking round I feel a feeling profound;
That my soul is now bound and only for her
Does my weak heart pound…
~Cheshire Puss
