Man and she were put on Earth, as 'twere,
To celebrate bonds twixt him and her?
Such is the gift the Lord has wrought,
Confining love to a single spot,
The public arena for private affairs,
A boxing match for splitting hairs,
A hug-a-thon for subduing tears,
A mirror to reflect a tome of years.
The good Lord peopled his lands with differing types:
One to fish and one to wipe,
One to love and both to gripe.
I suggest it was under the Tree of Eden,
The titular sense of good and evil,
That lovers first quarreled and determined one to be regal,
The other, heathen.
Can a smothered sense of commonness,
An ignorance of universal duress,
Or total lack thereof,
Be the fount of universal love?
No son of damnèd Adam
Has found a Madam
Worthy to betroth
On the merits of her tenderness alone
I suppose.
Romanticism isn't in ditches,
Just occluded by some new school,
Which is...
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