Love is a cove. Protected by hills,
Cities in protected bays thrive,
Every avenue meant for love.
The inaccessible port quickly fills.
The lighthouse blinks love to arrive or leave.
With scientific certainty I can say
I have been unlucky in love.
Whether I neglected, or pursued,
Or combined it in a scientific way,
The beloved eventually found me rude,
And rejected my love and my poetry.
I will say nothing about women. Some are here.
I remember a sunny afternoon,
Watching a friendly ferry slowly disappear.