I fell in love
With the sound of you.
The very thought
That you could be
Divided
Into simple syllables
And, yet, mean
More than the complexities
Of feeling you -
Made the air
Burst forth into my lungs
And breathe hope.

You could give life
And color
But now you lay there,
Weeping,
While Webster himself
Shakes his head.

You could have meant more than ever imagined,
If only you had been written in French.