My Heart, My Artist

Why did I choose to love her?

Why do I love her still?

Was it her unnurtured tenderness?

Was it that she bore none ill will?

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When I close my eyes I see

Her dimples to frame her smile

Her sweet and nourishing kindness

Invites me to sit and stay awhile.

She carries no hate in her heart

Though the world's been cold and cruel

And when she dreams, she dreams of art

Another canvas soon lies full

Of sunlight wrought in red and gold

Of vibrant daffodils.

Why I love her can not be distilled

In stanzas and in meter

I'm afraid to say there is but one way

You'd simply have to meet her.