I cannot explain love to you; <br />but you can watch the glistening <br />of the early morning dew, <br />or a leaf as it unfolds from perfect bud <br />and stretches out for life anew. <br /> <br />I cannot make the sound of love; <br />but you can listen to <br />the sound of nightingales above, <br />or the bees as they gently hum <br />from one blossom to another one. <br /> <br />I cannot write of loves essence true; <br />but you can feel the rocks <br />soak up the rain, <br />or the oak tree creak in spring <br />as it awakens from its sleep within. <br /> <br />I cannot ever hope, <br />to capture what so many poets sought <br />in all the words they wrote, <br />what every musician tries to play, <br />what every childlike smile can say. <br /> <br />At best I can only write a verse, <br />that with unseen grace from above <br />might speak of stars thoughts <br />as they whisper to the darkness deep, <br />held gently in Your love. <br /> <br />And should you think that love <br />is a stranger to your fate, <br />I can ask the moon that shines <br />to tell you what it saw <br />in all the eyes from ages past <br />that gazed on it in awe.<br /><br />David Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/love-s-reflection/
