Epistle to a Flower, On Her Leaving Me, In the Autumn

As some shy fledgling, whose sense of life's unrest,
Does move to stretch the wing upon fair Zephyr's crest,
To fall into the sky and then the sun,
To do it all or in her quest be undone;
With many fruitful seeds to sow,
But na'er the time to stay and watch them grow:
Thus away from me did this fair lover slip,
Without the sweetness of a single kiss;
A pleasure never had and oft deferred,
For she was shy of me, and I of her.
Away to nighttime, smoke, and prose at best,
Breathed from another's stale-air breast,
Away from words, and walks, and flowers,
To silent, stagnate, smothering hours;
The which are filled with further discontent,
Through knowing that her time is idly spent,
In waging tongue, curling lips, and feigning gay,
For yet has she known gayer day;
Still, she may keep false hearts aplenty,
And with them dust bland hours four and twenty;
Also with dull tomes, tight shoes, and brackish water,
For such things are equally pleasing one and other.
One such heart yourself may 'specially please;
Whose brain is numb and whose passion a soft breeze,
Who makes you gifts of someone else's rhyme,
Wields prepackaged love and thinks it fine.
Who, when your humors ebb and flow,
Responds not when they come, nor sees them go;
But has a loyalty fast and true,
Albeit to many things above you.
On some dark night mayhaps a vision comes,
Of marvelous moments spent in dazzling sun;
In dreams you shirk Time's authority,
To stand in Africa, with me;
Air hung with sundry thoughts unsaid,
Yet sketched in smiles, by one another to be read;
Sights which when you slumber wax immense,
but with your opening eyes, condense.
Thus away songs of love and days of Thor,
to thrift store romance evermore.
So when I pause to think of you,
(And am graced with company by my Muse)
Lending neither eye nor ear,
to those about me true, and dear:
Seeing shade caress your curves,
and growing bold, I taste your words,
am cut short by my friend, Reality,
I swallow them and watch you flee;
You seek your truth, and thus do roam,
but having mine, I'm always home.


*Thanks to Alexander Pope for the skeleton and the inspiration.