The student ponders, wonders what
To write without embarrassment
For love is a subject not discussed
In such a circle of friendship as his.

He writes:
‘Love is like a field in winter.
It waits, and often seems dead
But come spring, it erupts
And bursts into life with vigour.

‘Fireworks crack, and music swells
As she takes you, holds you, and the moon
Beams down and watches as you dance
Together, arm in arm.

‘Love is like an explosion
It sweeps through you, and all
Those important things are nothing
For now the real thing is here.’

He continues:
‘If my friends could see this now,
I know I’d quickly be alone,
But true love never leaves, as long
As you’re with her, together.

‘To fancy is one thing,
But to love is quite another.’

He pauses, and sighs with sadness
As he remembers, the love that once he shared.