I don't know why I've never
Called you by the name you've chosen
Perhaps the old one brings back times
We sat knee to knee, supposing
I always meant to do it...
(Which is feeble, I concede)
I am well enough to mean well
Not quite well enough in deed.
Hamlet's 'indifferent-honest.'
Still a far cry from being good
When I do the things I can for you,
And little of what I should.
You would have all love lavished on you
If my mouth said what it meant
And if only my hands' actions
Could match my heart's intent.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Whimsy is not dead! It liveth in Exeter and its environs, methinks (to quote the old fart from poetry shared) 'tis a far far better thing than many others have writ (I think I'm going all archaic). Verily.
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