I pick my pen to write,
A love poem, a poem
About love. A poem
For love. I do not find
The words.

Love is not
Found in the sugary words
That I court, nor at the mouth
Of the lofty mountains
that I go to.

Love is in the dirt,
In the brackish water
Stagnant and rank;
It is the lily growing in
The marsh.

Love is cultivated
In the cool temperate climate
And it warms the cold nights.
I pluck this lily for you