Over back where they speak of life as staying
('You couldn't call it living, for it ain't'),
There was an old, old house renewed with paint,
And in it a piano loudly playing.
Out in the plowed ground in the cold a digger,
Among unearthed potatoes standing still,
Was counting winter dinners, one a hill,
With half an ear to the piano's vigor.
All that piano and new paint back there,
Was it some money suddenly come into?
Or some extravagance young love had been to?
Or old love on an impulse not to care--
Not to sink under being man and wife,
But get some color and music out of life?
LOVE POEMS
New Love Poems
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beautiful love poems
birthday love poems
e. e. cummings
emily dickinson
famous love poems
friendship poems
i love you poems
love poems
love poems for her
love poems for him
romantic love poems
shel silverstein
short love poems
sylvia plath
teen love poems
wedding poems
william butler yeats
william shakespeare
william wordsworth
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