Rina, 52 - 4 мая 2008 22:06

[SIZE=-1][COLOR=darkblue][FONT=Times][I]It’s not a poem. There are just words, weaved together. There is no rhyme, but there is meaning, there are feelings, there is love. [/I][/FONT][/COLOR][/SIZE]

[B]Love [/B]
I love you,
Not only for what you are,
But for what I am
When I am with you.
I love you,
Not only for what
You have made of yourself,
But for what
You are making of me.
I love you
For the part of me
That you bring out;
I love you
For putting your hand
Into my heaped-up heart
And passing over all the foolish,
weak things
That you can't help
Dimly seeing there,
And for drawing out
Into the light
All the beautiful belongings
That no on else had looked
Quite far enough to find.
I love you because you
Are helping me to make
Of the lumber of my life
Not a tavern,
But a temple;
Out of the works of my everyday
Not a reproach
But a song.
I love you
Because you have done
More than any creed
Could have done
To make me good
And more than any fate
Could have done
To make me happy.
You have done it
Without a touch,
Without a word,
Without a sign.
You have done it
By being yourself.

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