And how will I finally say the words?

You are not mine to proffer

Such a tenderness; and I

Do not belong to the ranks

That would let me utter them

Aloud. Yet and still, when I

Set my watch in some distant city

Or awaken to the wonder of a

Pastel dawn, yours is the face that

Is rising with my sun;

And when the purple night descends

Yours are the

Beams that are dancing off my moon.

You are the poetry I speak

On silent nights, alone;

You are where my heart goes sailing

When the seas of life are cold;

You are the words I try to paint

With these frail, inadequate quills;

And when the light cannot cry for the shadow

You alone can make my brushes weep.

So, how will I finally say the words

If they do not fall upon your ears;

Or my lips upon your mouth;

Or my hand upon your breast;

How will you ever know then, darling,

When I tell you that I love you?

02/14/2003

Author's Note: Happy Valentine's Day....to all!

Posted on 02/14/2003
Copyright © 2024 Ken Harnisch