Tongue-tied, seeking amongst
The rows of cards in their cantilevered stands
The words written by gnomes in Kansas City
That put into verse what my sentences can’t

‘Cause it’s funny, how the penmanship
They taught me in third grade was all for naught
I have never come upon paper so blinding white
Or so desert blank I can’t conceive a thought

And every word of mine seems treacly now
And every emotion a wisp; pastel;
It seems easy enough to say I love you
And yet, these are words I don’t form so well

Blame life and its damnable vicissitudes;
Blame the one or two who came before
For plunging my fingers in numbing ice
And my thoughts for freezing at your door

Oh, I so wish to simply say you’re mine
Shout the unsaid words that paint the sky
To leave you with no doubts, or dread
To promise I love you until I die

So I search the eaves for Shoebox wit
For elegant verse in cursive swirls
For the words of fire to set you alight
And proclaim my passion in a jaundiced world

Then hopefully, you, ablaze with love so high
After reading my card in your trembling hand
Will say the words in reply I never could
Or… find your own at the Hallmark stand

06/22/2011

Author's Note: To the gnomes...who've saved my bacon more times than I want to admit..:)

Posted on 06/22/2011
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