The Cold Grindstone

Do as I say, not as I do.

I would not have this rule forgot,
For some can give,
What they themselves have not...

You whet and grind us, gentle Joan,
And turn us into love's darts;
The whetstone is your spirit, your eyes the files,
Thy raw materials, our hearts.

Your heart is not involved where you our hearts do send,
Your spirit not a whit augments what you shape us into, as a friend.
That comely grace which you us show, to our bondage it does turn.
Though you remain as cold as ice, you heat us till we burn.

What sparks do fly while she takes away
Each imperfection, tarnish, and rough spot.
And turns me into more than what she is herself,
And gives unto me what she herself has not.

A warm heart that loves
Can be shaped by one that remains frigid.

Some folks can call forth love from others
When they have no love of their own to share.