Little Things that Make Love Blossom

I'm not a traditional poet As you may think Wole Soyinka Who writes in form and pattern I'm only a man of romantics Who love to paint words and polish lines Until it becomes flower verse They are not cast on a stone, Or like gold, tried on fire They're just free verses They're the expression of my love To you, Imabong, my dearest I know you love to read my lips When I say those sweet nothings They are music to your ears They are like a bouquet of roses That bring satisfying feels to your heart Of such unflinching devotion These are the little things I do To make love blossom I remembered our walk in the clouds When we flew like birds to California How we painted the summer red Beaten black and blue by stripes of the sun And every night we slept like dead logs After we have exhausted all day Gallivanting the five stars Yea yeah, that was when our love was young And exuberant, such a juvenile delinquent We ran around naked on the beach Went clubbing all night long, every Friday Drank alcohol, smoked cigarette And woke up hangover, by Saturday morning Ate junks from the restaurant cartel Hamburger, shawarma, ice cream, Anything we love to eat, we ate But I knew, such feeling of invincibility dies with time Such moments of madness we enjoyed, pass away with age When I'm seventy and five years old Doctors say don't eat this, don't eat that Just be watching your blood pressure Yet, I still found my heart pounding When my grand children race off to school And their parents, went chasing money everywhere Home alone with the memories of my love And the ghost of the years past Rocking the chair And humming old school songs