By jet, I'd like to travel o'er the sea
To lands where eyes, long jaded, would but dote
On things of which I have no history:
On what (though close at hand) appears remote.
I'd love to climb what mountain goats so fear
But for to boost (what aging pilfers) pride,
Or chase a cunning lion with a spear
Which (but to shake) would make it run to hide.
But (as my peers) I'd know why poets sing
Of what proves grand, or what oft seems mundane;
Else, by what means ne'er-beckoned muses bring
Sheer Beauty e'en to hearts that seem profane.
Yet, though there are so many things I'd do,
What tops my list is saying: I love you!