Little Things Poem by Linda Marie Van Tassell

There are little things,
like the joy he brings,
that make me love him so.

Like his winning smile,
that crosses the mile,
like a brilliant rainbow.

Like his sweet laughter,
before and after,
sweet music to my ears;

each expressive line
that I drink like wine
to chase away the tears.

Like the way he speaks
a blush to my cheeks,
and a new rose is born;

the way he holds it
and gently scolds it,
mending the petals torn.

Like his love professed,
his sweet heart undressed,
the softness of his sigh;

or his touch which melts,
little rain-dropp pelts
that make me want to cry.

Like the way love grew
from one heart to two,
two flowers in the wind;

and the way he talks
or the way he walks,
the way he is my friend.

Like a running stream
or a budding dream,
he lifts me in his love.

He gives me the wings,
with the joy he brings,
to lift me high above;

and the way I soar,
I adore him more.
The dark night turns to day.

Like a wind in rain,
he chases the pain
until it falls away.

He is my glory,
a joyous story,
the page of life I've found;

an endless shower
of strength and power
when life has run its round.

He does not know it.
I do not show it,
but I live for his love.

His open embrace
makes me fly through space
on the wings of a dove.

It's the little things,
just the little things,
that really make me tall.

His love and laughter,
before and after.
What else? I can't recall.