St Valentine - this is your day - here's one I did earlier ...
Delia mine
Holding my hand, my heart, she has my mind
As glad a captive as the flower has the bee;
A soft-lined cage above all other kinds
Of chains, all other lovers, this is she.
And when in time I leave this place behind
Shall be in her the truth of what was me.
She shares with me the tumult of each day
In form or thought it matters not at all
And then by night as down to sleep I lay,
To hear soft music of her siren call,
Touch on the moon as light my fingers play,
Scent sweet, so sweet the flower of her soul.
She combs her hair and I can see the girl
With naked woman in her lifted eyes
Then dressed and poised, the lady, loyal
To one who never earned such royal prize,
To one who usually from love recoiled,
To one, more downs than highs has realised.
Now with what courage calmly has she walked
Along each rocky path to which I led,
And at what danger has she baulked,
Whoever's warnings did she heed,
How tenderly deny the way they talked,
How gently bring me comfort when I bleed?
She's there in dark Mohamed's fiery sun
In waves of warm liquidity beside the waste
And leaning to a harsh and wintry hill
The rain and tears of laughter on her face,
And mirrored in the eyes of strangers still
As soft into the crowd she sets her grace.
Herself she sees reduced and I increased!
I've found no way to turnabout her lens
But then the truth can sometimes matter least,
Does not create itself through sword or pen
Whilst poor is he that, loveless, is unblessed
To rise in truth above the nothingness of men.
I know love is to know the final dividend,
Without true love our struggles are in vain
For love uplifts the time that we here spend
Its timeless strength discounting all the pain.
And so whichever way I go I go content
To suffer any loss, much greater she, my gain.           
Bryan Islip  Feb 14 1994

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