Love's Page
Not like some factual hearsay's rummage,
nor as some wildlife's festive plumage.
Not standing out, but hidden by its asuage,
as one in clout, of my own heart's demurrage!
His course in mine, considering its drum's wage
is beating doubt, I react like am on stage,
prepared to mote, or barter out my usage,
this dormant love, so numbered to a mind's sage!
Now speaks in route, still hoping to encourage
this feeling's lout, has all but left to scrimmage.
A game this bout, opponents only new age -
it's love that's out - I pitch, then swing -
. . .f or each page!
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