I Still Love Your Words Poem by Mark Heathcote

I still love your words, and now you have a voice-
that is bewitching - in its cadences.
You talk of cuckoos—birds—and my heart rejoices.
You talk of vines and quiet awakenings.
And how your words claim a right to haunt
while I remember my inertia.
Ah, how my own words were given applause-
complementing each other and vice versa.
I still love your words, and how much have they grown?
Your old cuckoo birds are now nightingales.
Your vine, morning glory, entwines a throne
Not one word would I edit or curtail.
You talk of cuckoos—birds—and my heart rejoices.
Talk of vines now; aren't these my languages?