Why Call It Love? Poem by Warrith Olawale

Why call it love and sing about
If it's only in the summer, it sprouts?
Why do we deceive ourselves at pleasure
That there's no winter with censure?
We've probably been insincere
With the tangled emotions we bear.
Maybe we should call it 'flower'
And we'll say, 'I flower you' in this summer
Because flowers only glow for a while
And so do the emotions in our smile.

Why call it love? my mistress, answer,
If it blooms only in the summer.
And when that day, the winter wind blows,
We begin to walk weary and slow
In between the abyss and the garden's drupes
And on time's hinge, we sway our hopes.
When our dim eyes meet and in fate, we're mute
With no spark of recognition or salute
While walking past the beautiful angels above.
How could we have called it love?