February 25
I wish this poem were pixie dust To throw into your eyes And make you see the loveliness Beneath my sad disguise.
And I would take you in my arms And weave a magic spell That I could utter anytime To make you love me well.
But alas my simple words Are like summer rain That drums on hills and fields and hearts, Then vanishes again.
And though my love might make you bloom, You turn with fragile grace To gaze in aching loneliness At someone else's face.
We lust for what we cannot have, A long, unbroken chain Of lovers who remain unloved And loved who love in vain.
While I'm near mad with wanting you As trees must have the sun, You cannot help but find a love Who loves another one.
So much have I opened mine soul to thee! How deep have I wept? How true have I sung? What more can I offer of mine heart? I do love thee all, I do love thee ever. With such pure, sweet and tender care, I cherish thy being, I adore thy fashion. I do adore thy look and form and grace, I do cherish thy smile, thine eyes, thy face, I am smitten, enraptured, consumed by desire, Mine eyes upon thee, true doth burn for thy fire!
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