A trite sonnet penned swift to fill in time,
a rummaging of sentences to find
something approximating worthy rhyme,
that will not leave me blushing, mortified.
<3
I haven't quite your gift with rhyming schemes,
my words don't sing with musicality
and cannot rival yours but in my dreams,
they lack panache, éclat, saliency.
<3
Yet still, it is the thought that counts, I'm told
and thinking of you brought these thoughts to me
and therefore I would argue - were I bold -
that their intention renders them less twee.
<3
I dedicate these lines to you, my sweet,
whose name remains a secret, as is meet.
YOU ARE READING
Borealis Love
PoetryLove - what does that word mean, what does it comprise? Do we always recognise it when faced with it? Do we value it when we ought to do so? Do we squander it when it is too easily given? Do we ever understand until it has left us and we are left to...
