“love makes fools of us all,
my captain,” the bard says,
and there is no bitterness in
his voice, nor any shake

“but,” he continues,
smoothing down the collar
of the captain’s long-coat,
“there are worse things than
being a fool for you”

and the bard remembers something
from long ago
about how touching someone’s collar
will keep them safe at sea

so he does just that
one more time, for good measure
not just because he can
but because the captain will allow it

for there is more between them now
than a ship tossed about by the
waves on the oceans great expanse

but still, nothing more than
a pretty little dagger
tucked into the bard’s boot
and a daisy behind the captain’s ear

such simple little things
objects exchanged in a way
that is arguably a love language
though, who is to say, really?

what matters here is what
the dagger and the daisy hold

something like the promise of
immortalization through song,
the spoken and written word

and something like a goodbye
that is more a promise of return
and that is arguably a beautiful thing
wouldn’t you say
oh, captain of mine?