If you love something you'll let it go

but freeing her won’t help me to find peace.

An ordinary man once, now a fleece

Once rich, she's daughter to a merchant broke.

A tune she hums; it blooms my wilted hope.

A way was made for this foul curse to cease.

Though now she's here, my torment has increased;

a rose’s thorn digs in—a cliché? No.

Her prince I'm not as briny tears I taste;

too painful are the mem'ries of what were.

They make me long for what we two may know

at last, when our fingers are interlaced.

Perhaps change clothes and comb my matted fur?

Determination spurred, I’ll be her beau.