Love in England
I even sent you stupid things like pics
Of guards in London backed with notes about
The mayflower being in bloom. The tricks
I pulled were quite pathetic. Rave and shout
Was just about the only method left
Untried. The sonnets, longer pieces of
Verse, feverish paragraphs of prose with heft
Of thought and heaviest emotions, love
And its twin feelings, jealousy and rage,
Resulted in waterproof smiles. Too smart
You were, weighed in wisdom beyond your age.
You coped too well with rhyming feelings’ art.
But what did I expect? That postcard scrawl
Would make impossible obstructions sprawl?