Only so many hours may be spent
In quiet contemplation of our love,
Even in my most self-focused bent.
Yet what, if anything, is there above
Those thoughts in my opinion? Nothing then?
Then why can I not spend all idle time
In thinking of it? Since I know that then
I would dissolve myself into pure rhyme
And who wants that? Neither of us, I'm sure,
So I must spend some times on other things
Though still aware that I might still prefer
To think of love and all the joy it brings.
But as I stand, as I must do, apart,
Remember how thus standing pains my heart.
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