Usually with words I am spoilt for choice;
But there isn't a birdsong that touches your voice.
There are no earthy things that I can compare,
The softest of silks cant describe your hair.
And no castle or fortress, of whatever design
Can make me feel safer, than your hand in mine.
Not a feather or snowflake, as the days get colder
Nothing is softer or lighter than your head on my shoulder.
I could spend years writing this, and wracking my brain,
But the impossibility of describing you would drive me insane.
For no land I search or sea I sail,
Will help me describe you, in all your detail.
No waterfall or summer's day,
No painting of oil, or sculpture of clay,
No desert island, no flowered field,
Not the sharpest sword, not the strongest shield,
No oak tree or cloudless sky,
No ladybird or butterfly,
No diamond, sapphire, ruby, pearl,
No king, no queen, no lord, no earl,
No frankincense, no myrrh, no silver or gold?
Nothing, anywhere, young or old.
I could search the world, walk a million miles
But nothing helps me describe your smiles.
So I can only do the best I can,
But I can't do you justice, I'm only a man.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Details by Harry Radcliffe )
Poem of the Day
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Limbo, Seamus Heaney
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- Peace. A Study, Charles Stuart Calverley
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- Television, Roald Dahl
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas
- All the World's a Stage, William Shakespeare
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(April 13,1939 - August 30, 2013)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
- Heather Burns
(1886 - 1967)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)