Fickle heart so tremulous,

Fear not the god of ravens,

No spite, wrath nor petulance,

Only the sweetest avens.

I sought your hand earnestly,

And yet you still pull away,

To wait for you faithfully,

Until that fated someday.

Open our hearts utterly,

A flood not just a trickle,

The truth not mere flattery,

The tides of love less fickle.