If I could capture the wondrous sight of an angel of light,
or the mystery of the pines. The breathless kiss of the
wind on my lips or the gentle joy of the rain,
then would I capture you, my love,
then would you be mine.
If I could capture the rapture of an eagle's flight,
or the glare in a lion's eye,
the quiet pride of a mountain peak,
the shimmering veil of a rainbow on high.
Will my eyes ever inhale the myriad hues of you?
Will I ever trace the living grace of your view?
But I can't. It just isn't you!
I wanted a portrait that was soaring-one that was searing,
but someone so endearing kept slipping in instead.
Living grace? My love, your gait is shambling-a scarecrow rambling,
but in your eyes there's such tender understanding.
I wanted a painting that was thrilling, but why is it
that this love of ours, in muted pastels, is so fulfilling.
I should have painted a sweet and gentle clown,
who says, 'I love you, ' and turns my world upside-down!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Very wonderful and wise. This is a poem worthy of the name. Warm regards, Sandra