You told me that you learn your lessons well;
on that hangs every hoped-for dream I crave.
For loving you with every pining cell
ensures those lessons will our trothness save.
I never wish to be a source of pain
or torture you with love’s untender rack.
At most I seek to drench you in the rain
which, falling hard, may melt old cul-de-sacs.
But you are not the only student heart
for by this marriage my stiff stones are turned;
as piece by piece my folly falls apart:
To fall for you means lessons must be learned.
Such all-consuming earthquake love as ours
despite the falling rocks) is strewn with flowers.
© 2011, Alan Morrison