My Love of Words

My Love of Words


Oh, my darling, sacred words, unfastened from your cage;
clad in silky finery, you rest upon the page.
You laugh at all my failures to write down the things inside
then taunt me to an abject shame permitting me no pride.

I love you every day I breathe, and deep into the night.
The mystery of significance is yours, for my delight.
Your wares are full of elegance; others cheap and vain.
The ones I love the most are those of ecstasy and pain.

I seek you out in Austen and I search for you in Poe,
but Dickens scorns my worship and leaves me to my woe.
I can’t compete with suitors so well endowed with fame,
but my love for you is genuine, though I feel eternal shame.

I beg of you, beloved, forgive my clumsy ruse,
the genius of my pen and ink is nothing but obtuse.
Accept my pleas of passion and hold me in your arms
to soothe my fevered scribbling with love’s romantic charms.