by Nicholas Gordon

To my Valentine, with all my love,
Of whom I cannot say enough in praise:
May my love for you sufficient prove,
Yearning to redeem your caustic days.
Vortices within may drag you down.
Anchor, then, in my serenity.
Love saves some who otherwise might drown,
Embarked alone upon their Galilee.
Nor should you deem your own love not enough
To be the chapel to which I retreat
In search of a pavilion for my pain.
No love is love unless it be a seat
Enchanted, where a stone might weep again.