What the Lord of Lyricism Sees (Part II)

“Oh how love is so cruel!” laughed the king of fools
To the lord of lyricism, still perched as he searched.
“It seems true: One was born to be torn but not by
Any scorn of the other; ha! I wonder, does he realize
What prize is his as he mixes metaphor to score yet
Another tune? Does the duke see or is this a fluke?”
And the king of fools drooled his answer: “My lord,
Love is as tender as the dove, who flies high above
But falls quickly to hard earthen call to crawl among
Beasts of burden; love is delicate.” But the lord said,
“Surely love is also elegant and not desolate; so much
Is evident, which is why love is thus eminent… No,
He simply can’t see the free gift given by the duchess
Of stanza, who sadly stammered ‘fare thee well’ before
She fell from the sky, and ne’er did he utter ‘goodbye,’
But did he ever fly closely by? Truly I do not know
But I note that he still floats in the ethereal mists
Of senryu and such, which is not much in the manner
Of courtship.” But the king of fools quipped, “Ah! my
Lord, perhaps this was not meant to be, for there is no
Rhyme to bind them across space and time, lips to lips,
Hips to hips!” To this the lord of lyricism merely nodded,
Not in cynicism, saying, “We shall yet see what will be.
We shall yet see what will be.”

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