Tempus es iocundum
Girls,
when spring returns
don't despise the young men;
rejoice with them.
Hear them singing
in the choir room.
They sound like
sturdy delphiniums
about to burst into flower.
Love's first promise
encourages a girl,
but she is held back
by her own hesitancy.
And the boys keep singing,
so full of love they think
something important and tender
might explode.
Teachers know
the sap must be rising.
Boys who were quiet
all winter long
are wiggling
like three year olds.
Girls throw out a few
hot glances. The preacher's
modest daughter,
caught between shyness
and desire, palms a note
from the boy
who sits behind her.
You are so beautiful.
Meet me by the side door.
I'm dying of love.
You are the sweetest girl
in this sorry place,
and I am yours
forever.
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