If “love is a credulous thing”
And “cannot be cured by herbs”
Then gentle Wisdom, help me sing
Of the folly in your proverbs.
If “beauty is truth, truth beauty”
And that is all I need to know,
Then I shall sift through the acuity
Of love’s stuttering staccato.
If “hope is the thing with feathers”
And love knows no bounds
Then I willingly keep the tethers
Of your soulful words and sounds.