Amore

Once upon a mid-day deary, while I sat, talking to Siri

So many this ingenious and crafty thing seems to know

Then I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a cracking

As if something is striking, striking the sky, as it began to snow

“’Tis the weather,” I stuttered, “Striking the earth's core—

Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember tis in the sunny June;

And each Separate living flower spread across the Earth's floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow;— watching the flowers fall into sorrow

I rushed to my house, then there was sorrow— Sorrow for the plant Amore—

For the rare and radiant flower whom I named Amore

Named here forevermore.

now silken, sad, with the falling of each purple pedal

Oh how it filled me—filled me with sorrows terrors never felt before;

So that now, to still the beating of my wounded heart, I stood Tearing

then I saw a visitor walking up to my back door—

Some late visitor entering entrance at my back door;—

This it is and nothing more.”

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your Intrusion I implore;

But the fact that I was tearing, and so gently you came mocking,

And so faintly you came walking, walking towards my back door,

That I scarce was sure I heard you” —so I opened wide the door;—

       Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming, fear of this stranger that has approached my door;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Amore”

This She whispered and an echo murmured back the word, “Amore!”—

           Merely this and nothing more.

entering into the house turning, all my soul within me burning,

Soon again I heard a cracking somewhat louder than before.

“Surely,” said I, “surely is a rare type of storm;

Let me see, then, who this stranger is, and this might mystery explore—

Soon again I heard a cracking somewhat louder than before.

Telling myself again ’Tis a storm nothing more”

Threw the door I heard the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

In there stepped the stranger of the saintly days of yore;

leaning upon the bust of Thor just near my back door—

Leaning and silent, she said nothing more.

Then this strange person; now beguiling my bust to meet her fancy, she began smiling.

Ghastly grim and ancient She wandering from the day of war,—

Tell me what thy Goodly name is on this day of warm”

           Quoth the stranger“Amore.”

Much I coward this ungainly woman to hear discourse so plainly,

Her answer With great meaning—She scared me with her lore;

For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing a stranger leaning on his back door—

Man or beast leaning upon the sculptured bust at his back door,

           With such name as “Amore.”

But the Stranger, leaning lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if her soul in that one word she did outpour.

Nothing farther then she uttered—

Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other strangers have visited before—

On the morrow she will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”

           Then she said “Amore.”

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

“Doubtless,” said I, “what she utters is her only stock and store

Sought the happy master whom merciful ever after

Followed fast and followed faster till mine songs one burden bore—

Till the dirges of mine Hope that melancholy burden bore

           Of ‘my lost—Amore’.”

The stranger turned around leaving, outside my backdoor.

Turning around she once again said “Amore” As she walked into the heavens.

“I will miss thee, my beautiful Amore.”