An Italian Sonnet
To take a love for granted never lit
A fire; never blew the roof away;
It never begged the storms of night to stay.
A fallow field that aches with crack and split
Is cursed to lie beside lush meadows fit.
Cemented in while out the door love strays--
A slave to iron words too crude to say--
So unexpressed, this love will die in secret.
The hopelessly romantic has a knack
For filling every nook and cranny sweetly,
But often as it finds a match completely
Another perfect suitor slips in back;
Left powerless to toe the line discretely,
Romantic's always fraught with what may lack.