Poems (Probyn)/Letters

by May Probyn

For works with similar titles, see Letters.

LETTERS. (TRIOLETS.)

When December grew old,
 You were mine but "sincerely;"
We were still in the cold,
When December grew old.—
'Twas the New Year that told
 You could love me so dearly;
When December grew old,
 You were mine but "sincerely."

Such sweet things you would say
 'Mid pretences of snarling!
While the weeks ran away
Such sweet things you would say,
Till there dawned the March day
 That you called me your "darling"—
Such sweet things you would say
 'Mid pretences of snarling!

If I move from your side
 You declare you have missed me;
Yes, you growl and you chide
If I move from your side,
But the day that I cried
 You left growling, and—kissed me;
If I move from your side
 You declare you have missed me!

I defy you, again
 To be mine but "sincerely!"
Would you put me to pain—?
I defy you, again
To bring winter and rain,
 If you care for me really,—
I defy you, again
 To be mine but "sincerely!"