It would take a Supreme Court ruling to
Interpret the odd love I feel for you.
But would I think it just when it is through?
After all, should it have trouble with the
Pursuit of defining obscenity,
Then I must question its authority
To tell I, a lover!, what love is. I
Say love’s more fleeting and grand; should it try
To capture love in mundane words, I’d sigh
To see it with the abstract waste its time
And send the good children to weigh a crime
Or some such small thing and love in my prime.
What wisdom’s made me expert in love’s might?
Only the first and all subsequent sights.