If I should say, “The waves upon the shore,”
You’d think this was a song you’d heard before.
Or if perchance “the sand beneath our feet,”
You might suppose this rhyme was sickly sweet.
Alack! Clichés have ruined poet’s dreams
So much that any fellow’s writing seems
The sentimental sap of willow trees.
Fair reader know: I seek no sympathies.
A woman’s hand gives rise to chivalry
In meeker men who never dreamed to be
Much greater than a hermit cursing love.
But courage is the virtue I speak of!
And now it cuts a swathe, a path, a way:
My fear dissolves as blue fades into grey.