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'It's nothing but a PVC',
I said to number five,
'the heart must beat incessantly
to keep myself alive.'
A postventricular contraction
is noticed by the host.
It rarely calls for urgent action,
perhaps a catnap at the most.
But, ever since I met you, dear,
mine seems to crank them out,
in quantities that instill fear.
It's also beating loud.
You know what I surmise this is?
When you sing songs inside,
my heart is not yet used to this,
so let this be your guide:
Feel free to do just what you like
whenever you are home.
Inside my heart or on a hike
when through my soul you roam.
I want you as my tenant still
when - gentle as a breeze -
my ventricle has its last fill
and no more PVC's.
Herbert Nehrlich
Read poems about / on: fear, home, heart, song
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