Forsaken When Shaken

Love's forlorn curt sojourn, forsaken when shaken By trifle of qualms, charms and alarms Withers on vine, no fruit to crush into wine Besotted by starters, but becalmed when main course falters How often love's hors d'oeuvres flop and scuttle main course and sweet dessert The seeds of like, first sight thrill, and eye to eye sparkle and interplay Sprout too fast and wilt in the light of day, Spurned shoots thrown down the gauntlet, deflate, die and get flushed away.