Sometimes, Kevin,
When you sing of love, Hyacinthe, and rose,
You lose me in the beauteous clamor of perfect prose,
Grappling for that which you would convey
With praise for you enduring, bidding me stay,
Where my lips part to say,
Regale me, Kevin, make my soul to feel ‘n see
Past the sphere of an English Lit degree,
Into your world of placid fairies, golden-blue haze,
Framed with critiques, all singing high praise
Not sometimes, but always,
For Kevin