If I could find words lightly to express
The way I feel about you, it would be
But little in the way of tenderness
And nothing in the way of honesty.
In every poem that I write, I see
Some spark of it, but none contains the whole;
And so I struggle onward endlessly
Always in sight of, never at my goal.
It would be far too simple if my soul
Were easily poured forth in words and phrases;
The virtues that I'm trying to extol
Are far beyond me, and my honest praises
Cannot reach to the mountaintop they seek:
And yet I must, and will, attempt to speak.
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