Oh, a poem as lovely as you,
No poet wrote for eyes to view.
Not Burns or Blake, not even Keats,
Though pens have bled on countless sheets.
And though I've searched both high and low,
No lyric shares your wondrous glow.
I think, perhaps, a lengthy prose
May capture half your glowing rose.
And yet, I know it will not hold
The salient beauty I behold.
But still, I search in case you go,
So words may ease that day of woe.
“Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.” ― William Wordsworth