A Poem for You
If I wrote a poem for you,
and read as I were dead -
if I sent you flowers
but cared not if they were red,
how could you know my heart, my love?
How could you know my heart?
For I might as well have sent to you
heartbreak and hard work instead.
No, my dear, this must be clear,
for you’re more than a poem to me.
You’re the very inspiration -
you’re why God created me,
but it’s not as shallow or as simple
as one made for the other,
for God hides reasons within reasons,
as this, one day, we’ll see.
If we’ll but say, “Yes!” to Him,
as Joseph did to Mary,
we might just find that He designed
within us the capacity to carry
out His will - His perfect will -
His plan for all mankind,
which could not be done without His Son,
or without the willing and Virgin Mary.
And so, my dear, is it becoming clear
how inadequate mere words can be
to express a thing like love or truth
to the satisfaction of you by me?
No, my dear, words won’t work.
I cannot explain my love to you.
I’ll serve you, I’ll love you, and I’ll sacrifice for you,
because Jesus did it for me.
January 21, 2005