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His Portrait
He brought a bit of the sun and rain,
And treated me to joy, and sorrow,
And love, and unbearable pain,
And pierced my heart with a sharp arrow.
He gave me a bit of moving prose
And a little bit of poetry.
He looked out of wide open windows
And could find an exit or entry.
He was cutting, and charming, and sweet,
Had many virtues and a few faults.
Was my victory and my defeat,
My heart couldn’t fight off his assaults...
He was frank, brave, and proud of himself,
Seemed to come from another planet,
With care put his hat on a shelf -
It’s his precise and detailed portrait.
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