I cannot tell her just how much I care
And really, if I could, who'd think I told
Only the truth? Indeed, I must despair
Of ever being sufficiently bold
To simply say it; though but subtle means
I have I think conveyed my purpose. Still
It's best to speak out loud, and, making scenes,
Be obvious about the thing one will:
Therefore I ought to simply say I love.
Yet this is so unlikely I must laugh
To think that I would make a tender of
My love on my own open, plain behalf.
Rather I duck behind my words again
And do not speak yet: and if not now, when?
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