Poem By David Taylor
I cannot explain love to you;
but you can watch the glistening
of the early morning dew,
or a leaf as it unfolds from perfect bud
and stretches out for life anew.
I cannot make the sound of love;
but you can listen to
the sound of nightingales above,
or the bees as they gently hum
from one blossom to another one.
I cannot write of loves essence true;
but you can feel the rocks
soak up the rain,
or the oak tree creak in spring
as it awakens from its sleep within.
I cannot ever hope,
to capture what so many poets sought
in all the words they wrote,
what every musician tries to play,
what every childlike smile can say.
At best I can only write a verse,
that with unseen grace from above
might speak of stars thoughts
as they whisper to the darkness deep,
held gently in Your love.
And should you think that love
is a stranger to your fate,
I can ask the moon that shines
to tell you what it saw
in all the eyes from ages past
that gazed on it in awe.