CAMELOT FANTASIES

VINES OV LUV

Loneliness comes the rhymes, fading in and out of my mind.
Indigenous to its times, the requiem will be luv unto the kind.
Prestigious visions to repeat, signified upon the sign.
Melodies ov luvs' conceit, fragmented into vines.
Growing with demure, are words ov their times.
Castors see into our minds, gazing upon our lines.
Dancing words to premiere, in the visions ov our rhymes.
With every word, carried dear, luv deeply sighs.
Growing are luvs' vines.