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She was poetry, a sublime song,
but I, illiterate of deep love,
I did not know how to decipher her fecund language,
nor read the verses that her soul imprints on me.
With clumsy ignorance, my passion oppresses her,
incapable of understanding her profound mystery.
She, an open book of bottomless beauty,
I, a simple apprentice of the rhyming alphabet.
But with patience and care, I was spelling out
each gesture, each phrase, each glance,
until I managed to decipher her beloved essence.
And although I still have a long way to go learning,
at least I can now read, in love,
the love poems that her soul is writing.
Lovely interpretation of the depth of one's appreciation for the gift of another. That he is able to recognize her gift of language as compared to his lack of language knowledge will go far in the relationship. I love it when he tells of the patience between them while he learns to interpret her special language.
Thanks for sharing this thoughtful prose. Take care.
Love is about complementing each other's failings. Thank you for your comment and support.
You're welcome.