The New Word

Oh dear,
Who never was near
My love was not as mere,
As you thought then my dear.

A fool was I,
Who often did cry,
For that pretty fly,
Which was never 'my".

Now oh dear,
When I sit here,
I just revere,
That past with a heart heavier.

Thank you I should,
For showing me what you could,
As to what really would,
Lie under that love's hood.