Poetry of love that moves every part ,
that is the very being of her beating heart .
It holds  the tender stem and plants the root ,
and shows the starling where to find her seeds  .
It charms the sparrows from their nests in blind despair,
For nothing is too much to bear ,
for it even holds your hand when you climb the stair
and holds the brush that combs  your hair .

For poetry is everywhere,
It’s in the blades of grass that sway in the winds
It’s in the sleet and snow that winter brings .

It’s in the times when everything was said ,
and you just wanted to go to bed .

Far above what nature brings the lilies the daisies and her  daffodils.
In all these wondrous things ,when
Poetry sings it lights the way for falling stars ,
The crimson ray ,
the velvet fox gloves ,
to the man who says “ I’m not in love “
For she will still whisper ,
“ above all. these things you’re days my love are not yet done “.