Out across the great High Plain,
Labors of love yield a gain.
In ambivalence my foe I arraign;
My struggle impossible to contain.
One rids oneself of sin's dark stain,
As teardrops heal yesteryear's pain.
Still, affection never feign,
Although courtesy one may deign.
Here rain sustains silken grain -
I convince myself that I am sane.
Speak of love with kisses arcane;
The Real McCoy one must attain.
My complicity foes must constrain
For upon green fields summer lain
Renders the loveless vain.