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.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem