Here is a verse that has inspired me.

I'm sorry it's not MCR but I really liked it and thought some of you out there might like it too! It is by a trobadour named Guillaume IX. I found it while searching for some literature from the middle ages. I hope you enjoy it!

“I will make a verse of exactly nothing:
there'll be nothing in it about me or anyone else,
nothing about love or youth
or anything else.
It came to me before, while I was sleeping
on my horse.

I do not know the hour of my birth.
I am not cheerful or morose,
I am no stranger here and do not belong in these parts,
and I can't help being this way,
I was turned into this, one night, by some fairy
high on a peak.

I don't know when I slept
or wake, if someone doesn't tell me.
My heart is almost broken
from the grief in it,
and I swear by Saint Martial, to me the whole thing
isn't worth a mouse.

I am sick and shiver at death
and don't know it except when I'm told.
I will look for the doctor I have in mind,
I don't know who he is.
He's a good doctor if he can make me well,
but not if I get worse.

I have a little friend, I don't know who she is,
because I've never seen her, so help me God;
she's done nothing to make me feel good, or bad,
and I don't care,
because there's never been a Frenchman or a Norman yet
inside my house.

I have never seen her and love her a lot,
she has never yet done right by me, or wrong.
When I do not see her, I enjoy myself.
And I don't care a cock,
because I know a nicer one, better looking.
And worth more.

I do not know the region where she dwells,
whether it's in the heights or on the plains.
I dare not tell how she wrongs me,
it hurts me in advance.
And it pains me to stay on here,
and so I go.

I have made this verse, I don't know what about;
and I shall send it to someone
who will send it for me to someone else
to someone in Anjou there;
let him send me from his little box the key
to what we have here.