The Longing of Hearts

Your face is what every heart desires; the joy of your sorrow lies upon every heart. The ring of your hair is forever tangled by the chatter of hearts. Beside the stream of your love, your hard heart has shattered the pitchers of hearts. Into the curling coils of your dark hair, fate has tossed the hearts like a ball. What is this plunder your hair commits, locking hearts up in their searching? One could follow you a thousand miles, guided only by the scent that hearts pursue. Since it keeps company with your tiny mouth, the temper of these hearts has grown so cramped and narrow.