Quanto minus spei est tanto magis amo.

Terence (Eunuchus, I. 1053)

Iris, your vague quality draws me near,
Thus, Scrutiny calls from the sun-kissed patch
And finds in you, at least at last, what’s dear,
Which, though armed with blades of sight, fails the catch.

Iris, none are surprised that your allure
Held me taut, and with mechanical grasp.
Suppose then I complain, would I abjure
My love to you, though I see you and gasp.

Iris, mother of flowers, breeze of spring,
Green of the fields, and scent of the garden,
See in me what you in me always bring
And though be it crime of crimes, you’ll pardon.

Iris, life is lit by the flames of love,
By Jove, remember and forget, by Jove!

[I wrote this sonnet minutes after entering my car at the parking lot of Aljahra hospital. I gave Iris a gift which she hesitantly received, and I was crestfallen. I made sure not to be flirtatious, and to only give her the gift as a token of gratitude and friendship. She was so nice and sweet that I wanted her to be my friend. She is so dear to me.]

Aljahra,
December, 2023.