Ronald Frank
Not only
So when I come to think of love,
I think not only of the grasps and gasps
And the plaything of it all,
But also of the slipping years
And time ticking us together.
The bits writ in purple passion
Are one with our sometime quarrels,
Hurt silences, refusals to be
Reconciled on easy terms.
Those times you get up my nose
And I up yours. Our icy days
Before we get back to concurrence.
Then again, free-wheeling days with
Each extemporising on his or her own Tod
At some inspired craft or just drab duty,
Domestically silent awhile.
Ever our nudged knowledge:
Crocus flower in Autumn as well as Spring.
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Page(s) 55
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