Poets in love may moan in antique style,

“My lady’s heart is ice!”—But what do they know?

For I can say more truly with a smile,

My love is like a tropical volcano.

When first we met, she was so full of fire

I sailed away; for who could stand the heat?

Said Love,  “Fleeing from frustrated desire

Is not the way I make a man complete.”

She stopped erupting when I came about.

Ashore, I found volcanic soils sustain

Sweet crops which colder climes must do without—

Pineapple, coconut, and sugar cane.

  A man who is wed to an island of spice

  Loves even the lava that makes paradise.