Poetry Tree
And you say, My poetry Is beautiful: A tree That bears Delicious, Heavenly fruit From paradise. Maybe, That is true. But you are The sacred soil That embraces Its roots With your heart, The seeds Of magic That make It grow, The rain That makes Its fruit Full of honey, Of amber, Of wine. And when You look At it With your deep, Wide eyes, Like both Nile River, And vast, Blue skies, It becomes As charming As your eyes, As fresh As your cheeks, As sweet As your lips. And you say, My poetry Is beautiful. Maybe, It is true. But you are My true beauty, My fruit, My pretty, Poetry tree. Written November 14th, 2001 © on Nov 14 2001 01:16 PM PST 10 • 0 • 8
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"And you say,..."