I gave my love a tree for a gift.

That would surely set his heart a-fire.

I dreamed that in a boat we’d drift

And eat the sweet fruit from the tree of desire.

I gave my love a song from my breast

To please him if ever he hearkened to me

A musical poem Sappho had blessed

And angels in heaven do sing joyously.

I gave my love a goblet of wine.

So sweet the taste to sip and savor

From grapes that I did pluck from the vine

A promise of passionate love or … whatever.

Alas the fruit grew bitter each hour 

The song so boring he wanted to die

He said the wine was totally sour

Tipped his hat, walked away, with nary a goodbye. 

Each story has a moral I’ve been told.

A lesson to be learned and not forgotten

But each year I’m growing rather old

And this poem I fear is for the misbegotten.