Her Presents Poem by Louis Borgo

Imperfection love scorn, tented, virtue a loose,

Sound board of like if to know of her will is that shackle

A like warm of a Feather tie of a shoe of her might

What make things

So new virtue you

The first walk of the day as one sitting at a desk is

Jealousy more then a catch

Morning of master of day could

One put there live in there hands

Pass the note education the wick it well

train ride into heaven Perspiration to hardness the weather

what is in between the sky that lies between you and I

Is it work or just completion lies