This missive do I in confusion write for fear and deceit be today's plight. Where be the deceit? I'll tell thee now; of the failed confession of affection, that's how.
Twas not mine plan to fall in love, even though I heeded thine call from above. That call to never the light deny, even if the end result wouldst make me cry.
Nay Mother Goddess, I didst in another way fail and mine soul filled with fear that wouldst overflow an infinite pail. Oh the sacred touch I didst enjoy but knoweth not whether I didst mine chance to be with her destroy.
Twas not the touch but mine words so old; I spake unto her in verse and I didst feel very bold. However, mine language she couldst not understand but Christine didst not for it me reprimand.
I asked and she simply didst say, I comprehend not thine speech, nor thine strange way. Oh I did, I did try to speak plain but fear choked me and twas too much of a strain.
I didst however say I did Christine like and eluded to Cupid's arrow being responsible for my sorry plight. But I couldst not say 'I do thee love,' and why? Love is the highest expression from above.
I couldst not even to Christine be benign for she couldst not accept my free giving; my to her trying to be kind. For no material gifts wouldst she accept but how else am I to her attention get?
Oh Mother Goddess, knoweth not what I must do; how can I be to her and you true? I wilt never her freedom, expression or freedom of expression deny for that wouldst make both me and her cry.