If your eyes were not the color of the moon, <br />of a day full [here, interrupted by the baby waking - continued about 26 <br />hours later ] <br />of a day full of clay, and work, and fire, <br />if even held-in you did not move in agile grace like the air, <br />if you were not an amber week, <br /> <br />not the yellow moment <br />when autumn climbs up through the vines; <br />if you were not that bread the fragrant moon <br />kneads, sprinkling its flour across the sky, <br /> <br />oh, my dearest, I could not love you so! <br />But when I hold you I hold everything that is - <br />sand, time, the tree of the rain, <br /> <br />everything is alive so that I can be alive: <br />without moving I can see it all: <br />in your life I see everything that lives.<br /><br />Pablo Neruda<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-viii-if-your-eyes-were-not-the-color-of-the-moon/
