A Letter to Hilary
Oh Hilary, dear Hilary;
you must not think ill of me,
though this letter be tardy,
it is mercifully short.
Oh Hilary, dear Hilary;
no metaphor or simile,
can express in mere words,
my true feelings and thoughts!
Oh Hilary, dear Hilary;
this I say, verily,
the distance between us
must not temper my view.
If I might speak of Hilary,
and of nothing ancillary:
as every day passes
I'm thinking of you!
For my love, my dear Hilary,
pumps through vein and capillary,
as my heart thumps out
it's horrible beat.
For love, my dear Hilary,
is the liqueur and distillery,
mellow, mature;
an intoxicant neat!
But if you, my dear Hilary,
would condemn me, and pillory,
a dissembler of words
and execrable verse;
then I, my dear Hilary,
would submit to your devilry,
and bravely bare up
under your terrible curse.
For love comes, my dear Hilary,
like the drum of artillery,
though it too can be vanquished
in bloody defeat.
Love comes, my dear Hilary,
not as the White Knight of chivalry,
but as a war of emotions,
both bitter and sweet.
But if, my dear Hilary,
I speak a tad too familiarly,
then you have my permission
to tear up this page.
For it is your choice, my dear Hilary,
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poem by David SmithWhite
Added by Poetry Lover
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