How can a lover know his love is true?

Look down, my harried soul, and see at last

the time for drifting wanderlust is through;

with luck, the time for doubts of life has passed.

Such firm denouncement, yet I must contend

that this beleaguered life must yet begin;

all things that come before these days but lend

appreciation when the end comes in.

I know, though roads, such analogues, are gone

and yet go on, time's instants wane these days -

the pointless thought - conclusion - holds upon

some certainly uncertain ways and waves.

And yet each word I write in circumstance

has tightened seeming strands of happy chance.

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