Grandpa’s Speech to The Newlyweds: The Sun

We cannot hold it—it’s too hot—we’ll burn.

Ninety-three million miles away, as it is, from us

We’re safe—not counting skin cancer. Or sunburn.

If it’s anything closer,  yours  will be the last marriage.

So is love, though you could, with it, burn. Some while.

Without the cancerous  inclinations of the sun.

Don’t hold it closely in your hands—it sears

Like nothing else does: when what it’s used to just

Pulls off away without reason or rhyme.

If you’re not regular, like the sun

Love looks for a quarrel—lovers beware:

Its  foolish pitch of fever no ice cools…

Don’t hold it too tightly. Nor too loosely either.

Maintain the light of considerate reason in your life.

When it dims, beware: — when the savage needs

Of everyday pierce your functions with very little time allowed

Love plays the irked sun, and sweats you out close by

As your candidates of hell—all you’re not used to–will

Take the upper hand:  such as too many babies crying

For too many requirements that, when you forget love,

You’d think the days of your life went to the devil

And all the old attachments to tender manners

Boil, b-o-i-l… hot as hell—hotter than love or sun.