(if, my darling,
you awake to a world
gone madly awry;

if the organ-grinder
tries to make
you dance;

if the truth
eludes you in your
endless searching—

I cannot promise
to be here always.
but, my sweetling,

softly,
as you fade away
into the arms of another,

I will write
a millionth love poem,
just for you.)