The Oak Man

Sam With Si

What can I say of you my oaken man?

No pretty metaphors

With smiling eyes and a steady hand

Claiming what is yours

 

You do not bend into a poet’s mold

Like a dancer ’round a fire

You pour into it like molten gold

Spelling words of hot desire

 

Trying to rhyme your mismatched eye

With all sorts of trite little prose

The description of you will refuse to lie

In well-ordered rows

 

So strong is the heart that beats your drum

Steady as a Koa tree

If I knew the words I would have sung

Your praise to the azure sea

 

I could say, with inadequacy, that you were my rock

But that would do no justice to you

More like amber, forming slowly when you talk

Into warm, red earth hues

 

A Mozart concerto is serenading the dark

As rain paints a blackened street

On my neck is your breath, as if coaxing the spark

To flames, and wanting heat

 

All the poems I wrote on sleepless nights

Never knowing they were yours

I thank you Love, and I bless you thrice

To be the woman you adore

 

 

 

To Sam

 

 

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