I’ve learned lots of love letters
Their style, composure, and glee.
They’ve never set much in store
For little, lonely me.
I was told, by dear Dean, no less
That the young start in passion-
The inexperienced finish loose.
I’ve heard her warn
So this letter, my dear Linton
Is all that I should have said
Years back, when my tongue
Was new, yours glad.
I’m sorry our letters stopped short,
Come to me, my love for you did not.