I could write of love all day long
and tell of its sweet moments in a song,
the painful memories of its loss
And the shattered being that bears the cross.
I could tell of love’s tragedy;
like Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.
Of crossed fate and destiny
and the sweet destruction true lover’s get.
I could write a poem to express
Sweetness and distress,
A poem such as Poe’s
That tells of woes
And serves as a bittersweet dose.
But none could tell truly,
or express intimately
how much love feels
or how lush it blossoms
with innocence and freedom
when it comes and sweetly sweeps
a lover of their feet.