Poem 12

What’s love? It’s not a golden wedding ring.
No, love’s a hearty slap to sting
The face of all injustice!
I grasped in my capacity of loving this tenet

Love is not trumpets that proclaim true feeling
But two devoted heart’s concerted beating,
And, modesty itself, you’re not effusive,
You, nobleness, you always are reclusive.