My Lover He Writes Perfect Prose Poem by Patti Masterman

My Lover He Writes Perfect Prose



My lover, he writes perfect prose,
It pours out of his pen, it goes
To all those parts, yet undisclosed;
My brain, my thoughts, and even those
Admit his words more perfect, far
Than Morse code, from a twinkling star,
Or crickets legs, just keeping time
With Mother Earth's most perfect rhymes.

My lover sets his time to none,
Not setting moon, nor rising sun;
He is no watchdog on the prowl,
No baying at the moon, no howl,
But keeps awake the hours dark,
Just hoping then, to see a spark
From words professed of love, so deep
His spirit's secret hours, keep.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Naida Nepascua Supnet 21 April 2011

you must be very lucky that he writes good prose... there are only few good men who can be like that. he and my husband must talk once, they might give each other pointers and encouragement i like your poem.

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