I never wrote you a poem
bring my pen
for my heart yearns.

You descended tenderly on me
like the Northern Star
settling hope over a weary night
casting a new dawn of song and dance.

Your words cooed softly
like morning light wooing
the hills, birds, the roses
and the seven seas.

In my soul you saw
what I couldn’t see
as if godsend to blow
me the kiss of life
with your nurturing lips and thaw
away pain and self-hate, for self-love.

I never wrote you a poem
yet I’m a poet
and you’re a poetess.

I regret that – it seems
I’ll never be good enough
to write the great poem
you deserve.