My stab at Shakespearean language from a few years back. I was quite proud of this poem at the time I wrote it and wish I still felt the same.

Love, why dost thou mock me so?
Thou art a fickle friend indeed.
Running hot and cold within the same day, nay hour.

Is it thy jovial plan to torment me so?
Or shall I just sit upon my shelf until thou art ready to love me once more?
Thine tongue singeth one note, yet my ear heareth another.
 
Why dost thou thus?
What say you?

Thou speake, yet speake in circles still.
Thy words do bring a false heart to such a boy as I.

I cannot but hope for a love such as thine.
I will not sleep peacefully lest death or thou art mine.