The Promise

Maybe I was born a slow learner of hearts

Now and then I fumble clumsily in the dark

All the while I lose patience from the start

And utter words which come out too sharp

 I learn when to follow, when to depart

How to comfort two hearts far apart

Whisper soft secrets to my sweetheart

Or else to play the fool rather than outsmart

 

The more I age the less excuse I impart

On the needs of my own and those I love

I’ll write poetry and play like Mozart

If just to see the fire my lover’s eyes spark

 

One day when we are old wrinkled farts

My love is how I shall leave a mark

To impress the heavens and even Descartes

By resting all doubt without remark