You are not beautiful, exactly.
You are beautiful, inexactly.
You let a weed grow by the mulberry
And a mulberry grow by the house.
So close, in the personal quiet
Of a windy night, it brushes the wall
And sweeps away the day till we sleep.
A child said it, and it seemed true:
'Things that are lost are all equal.'
But it isn't true. If I lost you,
The air wouldn't move, nor the tree grow.
Someone would pull the weed, my flower.
The quiet wouldn't be yours. If I lost you,
I'd have to ask the grass to let me sleep.
Submitted by Larry Bole
Things that are lost are all equal. But it isn't true. If I lost you, The air wouldn't move, nor the tree grow...... / Fantastic imagery. Thanks for sharing the poem.
A marvelous sentimental verse penned beautifully which is touching too. Thanks for sharing.10 points.
A very touching and exquisitely sentimental and personal poem of love
If I had to pick one poem as my favorite, this would be the one.