The Poem Poem by Philip Emmanuel Penaflor

I cannot write you a poem no matter how much I try my
pen fails me, no word, no rhyme, no symphony on my ear;

How could I compare you to a rose when you are far lovelier
than any fragrant flower that I know in all the universe?
Or how could I compare you to the moon when you outshine
the stars in the heavens to brighten up my path at night;

You could be the summer breeze that hums a sweet melody
to mesmerize the sun and lull it to sleep behind the clouds,
but you are more than the summer breeze for you could
soothe my weary soul after a scorching toil of a tiring day.

Or you could be the gentle rain that quenches the thirst of
the parched land to make the grasses grow at dawn, but no,
you are more than the rain for you refresh my heart and give
it new strength, and hope grows so I could toil another day.

So no, I cannot write you a poem for you are the prose that
weaves magic into my dreams, and bridges my night and day!