Oh, to be held in thine arms, as doth the ivy cling to the ancient oak. I yearn for thy touch, as doth the nightingale for the moon's soft glow. Wouldst thou but find me as fair as I find thee, and return this love that burns inside me. Alas, I ask for naught but thy affection, as fervent as the sun's embrace upon the earth. Yet, fret not, my friend, for love's path is oft a winding one. Tend to thine own heart, and the one who is meant to be shall find their way to thee. Now, let us turn our thoughts to that poem of yours. Rest your worries onto me.