They called you 'primitive' dear friend,

and I confused in my affections.

 

How backwards they are!

For it is you who are confused,

and I who am primitive.

 

I who fall so short of grace,

as to be lost in a sea of darkness,

that though I reach through the bars,

 to touch that warm light,

 

I am imprisoned,

 by a love of condition.

 

I cannot love such as you,

to sit at my side,

and see nothing but goodness.