My Heart, My Artist

  Why did I choose to love her?

  Why do I love her still?

  Was it her unnurtured tenderness?

  Was it that she bore none ill will?

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  When I close my eyes I see

  Her dimples to frame her smile

  Her sweet and nourishing kindness

  Invites me to sit and stay awhile.

  She carries no hate in her heart

  Though the world's been cold and cruel

  And when she dreams, she dreams of art

  Another canvas soon lies full

  Of sunlight wrought in red and gold

  Of vibrant daffodils.

  Why I love her can not be distilled

  In stanzas and in meter

  I'm afraid to say there is but one way

  You'd simply have to meet her.