Sitting in Michael's Lap
What Cannot Be Written
(for my love)
I strive, at length, to capture what I feel
For you, in the unworthy grasp of words;
But how, in so inelegant a cage,
Might I confine that rare and precious bird?
My heart demands the words, and I oblige
By writing, but the reading finds them less
Than able to convey the essence of
The love they were intended to profess;
Oh sweet embrace, whose warmth enwraps my soul,
And comforts me when I must stand alone,
That vibrant sense of joy that you inspire
Seems lifeless here, in rhymed and metered stone:
And so, at last, I leave it to my heart
To show, with deeds, what words cannot impart.
"Nunc lento sonitu dicunt, morierus"
(Now I hear this bell tolling softly for another, it says to me, "Thou must die.")