Author Information
Rhett
A little worse for the wear,
A fray, a hole, a fixed tear,
A skipped beat your ears could hear,
As ever occurs when you draw near.
When heart pounds to love you more,
One pauses, it has happened before.
Would second or third be less pure?
Souls can't count, minds make sure
There is no gauge for love,
A dove, perhaps, is just a dove.
Repetition oft life has spoilt,
Repeated love? Or love rebuilt?
Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.
Totally, gladly, perfectly yours, I am.
