Are you trying to make people feel sorry for you?

Love is better than sympathy. Love is what I tried to do,

And in my spectacular failure, I found,

As my love spoke, you preferred love not to make a sound.

You love to do what you do, as long as no one says what you do.

When I tried to make a speech, a song, a crazy kiss, you would say, no.

You were made for the cedars. You liked to watch the grass grow.

I learned, too late, to be quiet around you.

Sometimes you did want a laugh, or a story.

I complied. But after a while it was clear I was forcing that glory.

If only you needed euphonious words! That’s what I had.

Words praising beauty are superfluous. You said, “shut up.” You got mad.

Love is ruined by the self-consciously grasping. My love became a duty.

Wordless, I marched up the mountain—and saw beauty.

In that far wilderness I was wordless.

Words fell away with the rains. All that was left was yes.




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