Love, they say


Has no season, the heart chooses its moment to bloom

Knows no reason, begs for – a piece of your pardon.

Excuse the humble self, on the edge of some treason

On top of the cliff – with little care or bit of abandon.


Image of flowers about to bloom

The heart chooses its moment to bloom. Or, so people say /









Hears strange music, some inner commotion

Feet dance, in heightened grace and passion.

An inane soul bound, pegged, to some silly notion 

The heart beats to a love – that’ll find its way soon. 😉


Image of a latte with G-cleft chocolate design atop

The heart follows the beat of a music only it can hear/










* The idea for this ho-hum piece must have come from a previous post. This is the last of the series of poems written in one sitting, sometime in March – after going over T.S. Eliot’s poem, in this post. Hey, it’s undeniably summer over here, folks. I’m two shades darker already. 😉  Have fun, cheerio!