To all those who are love-sick:
Some cry, I want love; I need love!
I am loveless; pity on me;
Love me, love me, love me
PLEASE!
Oh dear, why don’t you see!
Your eyes are closed to it.
Love is a breeze:
It moves the trees, sometimes just the leaves.
It can create waves in the ocean.
Love is whimsical and deep.

What will you give to your lover?
Do you possess a moonstone or stardust?
Have you planted a thousand roses?
Have you mapped the earth
To take your lover
On a journey full of mirth?

No—
I don’t have a moonstone,
nor do I have stardust.
I am poor but have roses and flowers
in all colors.

I will be kind to her limbs.
I can fill her life with passion.
Her organs will thank mine.
Her eyes will peck at mine.
Her hairs I will brush,
Igniting the passion in her soul,
Her vale merging with my knoll,
A hummock
just for her pleasures,
ever waiting, ever desiring.

Your lover is there—
look, look, O young lover!
She is standing right behind you.

When will he make her an offer?
When will he be
on the horse
with a ring?