Forsaken When Shaken
Love's forlorn curt sojourn, forsaken when shaken
By trifle of qualms, charms and alarms
Withers on vine, no fruit to crush into wine
Besotted by starters, but becalmed when main course falters
How often love's hors d'oeuvres flop and scuttle main course and sweet dessert
The seeds of like, first sight thrill, and eye to eye sparkle and interplay
Sprout too fast and wilt in the light of day,
Spurned shoots thrown down the gauntlet, deflate, die and get flushed away.
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