Beware of visitations by angels.
They’re only known to saints and the sainted few:
If you are but a man and speak to them,
Beware: they’ll make a martyr out of you.
Beware the hug too close: and so beware
The hug that lasts, the closeness of the breath.
The untrue hug is often longest held.
Beware his death.
But trust the truest one. Take kindest care
To those who give the strangest of advice:
Forgive them this, with love, and don’t beware
Of love and nothing less.
It doesn’t come from visions of angels.
It is love and nothing else.
This poem was written as a birthday present for a friend. (As a student you find that poems make for touching, intimate and incredibly cheap presents.) The structure isn’t entirely regular, but I think that adds a certain something.