You might have picked an easy man to love;
a man extravagant with praise, effusive
with romance. Instead, you found a recluse,
a misanthrope whose heart is loath to move.
My love for you a shiny copper coin,
uncirculated, minted fresh each day;
the effort to produce far and away
exceeding its face value.  Even knowing
what small change my passion's purse will carry,
your wishing well stays waiting, wanting, open
for what pennies, salted tears I spare.
A scanty promise made: no matter where we
find ourselves, I'll wake, create my token,
drop it in, and wish for more to share.