A Conversation in Verse

The first stanza is myself, and the second is miss Taylor, and we switch back and forth in the same manner for the remainder.

I like the last suggestion best
‘Tis far better than the rest.
Did you just make it up yourself,
Or pull it from a book upon the shelf?

I can’t believe you’d question me,
I’m an honest poet, can’t you see?

But... um... What dire offense from amorous causes springs?
What mighty contests rise from trivial things?

What have such things to do with my rhymes?
Dear sir, I worry ‘bout your brain sometimes

My brain’s quite fine,
No thanks to your kind,
And I’ll stand in line,
If it helps me find,
A girl that’ll not drive me
Out my mind
As happens all the time you see.                                                                                                                        (Sorry, I broke with our couplet scheme a bit)

MUCH thanks to me, I’m sure you mean,
Without me, sir, where would you be?
A girl to not drive you insane...
Does she exist, what is her name?
(Indeed you did, so thanks a lot,
Shall I forgive you? I think NOT.)

You’re right, as I am sure you know,
But if to madness I am to go
(if into that state I’m not already thrown)
I’d rather go on terms my own,
And waste away in highbrowed places
Than be driven mad by ribbon and laces.

Ha, yes I know, I always am.
Oh gosh my friend, you’re such a man.
You’d face insanity alone
Before  you’d call a silly girl your own?
What a lonely fate you are to find
I dearly hope you’ll change your mind.

But what good’s a girl who drives you mad?
Such a one can’t be ought but bad.
I’d rather be alone, and perchance insane,
Than with such a one who’d prove my bane.
At least alone I’d never know,                                                                                                                                    If I am truly mad, or no.

I see your point and do agree
That your own insanity you wouldn’t see
I would never wish you with someone                                                                                                                  That would drive you mad but didn’t love.
But a gloomy outlook it seems you have.
You’ll find her one day and be naught but glad.

‘Tis a hope, a wish, a faith unfair,
In a thing that simply is not there.
But then again, what is love
But the child of the three above?
(Though a child of three I’ve never seen,
On the whole it seems a thing unclean.)

To wish for hope, have faith in love...
What greater calling comes from above?
Nay, the blind belief is essential and pure
To finding a love that will forever endure.
Dream a little. Don’t think so much.
You’ll find love yet with its magic touch.

I wish I may, I wish I might,
Have hope in your faith tonight.
Much better is faith in love by far,
Than upon a distant star.
For love is here, in all the world,
To touch and feel and smell and hold,
While in dark cold space the stars turn ‘round,
Not caring for those here-bound.
In love then we’d do best to trust
It is, you know, why there’s an us.
(Us being human kind of course-
I mean nothing forward by this discourse)

Oh, I’ve laughed ‘til almost crying;
Thank you, sir, for clarifying.
But how poetic; I am impressed.
I pray you mean it or it’s dry, at best.
If you do, then we at last agree.
We should celebrate with a cup of tea.

Why thank you kindly, my dear friend.
To entertain's a wordsmith’s job in end.
But now that all is said and done,
I do believe I’d much rather have some
Food than tea.
Baja Jack’s specifically.

Right you are, and how well said.
Your fortune will come of it before you’re dead.
I’d have to agree with you once again,
Baja Jack’s my stomach’s friend.

Then let us make haste,
And no more time waste,
To reach this place,
And stuff our face...s

What, now, you say?
But it’s only midday!

But, I must confess,
I’ve no lunch,
Nor brunch,
Nor anything to munch,
And am starving at best.

Aw, you poor creature
Who has gone without dinner....
Indeed you should eat,
Before you collapse off your feet!

And you should join me,
As eating alone is a terribly
Boring fate. And soon, because
The hunger is stealing my rhymes.