neverness I – mar 01, 2006

 

strange indeed is our kind of love:

of mails exchanged when the web cares,

of saying things no one else dares,

of never being heard at the time we strove.

 

strange indeed is our courier dove:

fickle and whimsical, never available

when we most need'er, never pliable

to follow the pathways such messages rove.

 

for when we send those mails on-line,

they never come to their aim on time,

but hours take till the other is tired

 

of waiting -- and off ends to sign,

so that the only way for us is gather rhyme,

which is timeless, though love has us mired.