Love Is A Many Splendoured Thing Poem by Thomas Vaughan Jones

Love sometimes calls like thunder on the wind,
as iridescent as a lightning flash;
Thrusting and bustling, shouting to be heard;
complicated, boisterously brash.

Perhaps it’s like an uninvited guest,
sneaking beneath an unobservant eye,
Disturbing sleep and spoiling appetite;
creating breath in semblance of a sigh.

Do secret signal plays a masquerade
somewhere within the nuance of a glance.
Who orchestrates this splendid serenade?
and designates the essence of romance.