18 August, 2008 at 13:50 (Uncategorized)

Oh, if I could make you smile like that,
if I could make you smile like that,
I’d run.
But I love to see you smile,
long to see you happy, and then,
I look up from my washing,
I look up from my wine,
I look up from her hands on me,
and there is that smile.
Oh to know you’re happy,
oh to take joy in, all that makes you joyous,
oh to love the energy, that you pulse with,
is to write.
And if it were I,
then I would run,
It is not I,
and so I sit,
outside it all,
and throb with the sheer joy of endless sky,
of flowing golden vales and hills,
of the sunrise over the lakes.
If I could make you smile like that…
but I cannot, and so,
I write.

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