David Hart

'Les Amours Tristes' by Dave Hart


My true love of summer,
amidst nights of love,
didst whisper to me.
She'd extinguish the fire of our love,
unless betrothed we shall be,
Engulfed in nights of love
We betrothed were not to be!

My true love of summer,
after nights of love,
extinguished the fire of our love,
once conceived in summer,
ever naught to be three were we.

My true love of autumn amidst nights of love,
poured forth the fire once conceived.
Then, presently, we were ennobled to three
Amidst nights of love.

Wafting clouds of origin came to be,
imbroglio and winds of doubt enveloped me
rained on our fire of love once free.
Forever, a quietus on our three

My true love of winter in maelstroms
of love didst speak softly of a child
we two could conceive,
during volant nights of love
never would our love embellish to become three

My true love of spring,
oh how fretful she would be,
during nights of love
in apprehension of evolving
to three
Fretful nights of love
until apart wouldst us be
Forever apart we wouldst be.