Song for Dayle

A poem by Paul Buttigieg

What do I write my love?
To thee
Hath I been caught perchance
For
Thy golden fool

How dost thou stir?
For a man in such difference

I am what real men do

Should we not go in concert?
Celebrate
Our chance to dream my child

Alas no better love
Doth afflict me than you

Give me my crown
Tis’ tedious war
Love looks not what it is

In method hath reason for thoust
And cupid will come

My sweetness