here was a time I thought myself quite the poet. Because of that somewhat misguided belief, I devoted far too much time to reading and writing poetry (Jane Austin would not have approved). Not much of it was very good, and most of it has gone away now, but I've still got a few pieces that I enjoyed. My favorite was written seventeen years ago for my wife, before she was my wife, and when she looked upon me with a suspicious eye. She's since told me she's not a particular fan of poetry, but I didn't know that at the time and thought it was worth a shot. So, in the spirit of the upcoming Valentine's Day, I'm sharing it with you ...
I wished to write a song to you of love,
but things I had to say aren’t coming through;
to keep them safe – I’d locked them in my heart
and then I gave my heart away to you.
So here I sit with paper and a pen
wishing I could think of something smart,
sort of like a painter, who with twigs,
attempts to sketch an angel in the dirt.
Forgive me please, the stupid things I say -
I try to draw my words out of the haze -
but like a child who’s stared long at the sun
my mind burns with the mem'ry of your gaze.
So without pretty words I give you this,
and pray my tried expression does not miss.
... I love you, Sweetheart.