Maybe I’m not making myself perfectly clear.
Love, is it is my actions or my words
causing your unfounded fears?

Why would the wise and snowy owl
abandon the tree in which it lives
and rush into the howl
and the whipping of the wind?

Why would the traveler, lonely soul,
forsake the comfort of his bed
to seek the cold and distant queries
of the shrouded road ahead?

Would a musician ever still his hands
and hush his singing heart?
Why would he ever shun his only brand
of expression, his own art?

And a poet, just like you and I,
could never still her  pen
for the images in her mind’s eye
seek restitution, fitting ends.

I need you. I am yours.
I am in love with all you are.
Please let me show you, each day more
in love than the day that came before.

Put away your doubt for once.
Suspend your disbelief.
I promise never to leave you,
for what a fool, then, would I be?