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Poem

His Living Poem

I am a simple man,
   loquacious words I have not.
The few illustrative words I possess
   I recently learned or already forgot.

Authored by those more educated,
   are the poems I read before.
Frost, Yeats, Whitman, Longfellow,
   Poe, Dickenson, Vance Cooke, and more.

Even you, my sophisticated friends,
   possess the gifts I dearly desire. 
Within you lies countless treasures,
   that sparkle when read by a lamp or a searing fire.

What gift in me I can draw on you for a smile or tear?
   What, in my limited capacity, can I impart to you?
And what have I acquired, would you want to bear?
   There is none, from what I can find, or view.

That you've read this far, none have come before.
   Surely countless have already left,
as a dull wit I be, and to others just a bore.

The only observation I can find, 
   that would allow me to be of a facility,
is His living poem... a simple rhyme...
  is what God hath made in me.

And through His faith, 
   He trusts in me... His very simple rhyme,
to read the poems penned by you, 
  a gift from Him to you, 
     expressions so sublime.

by Martin Braun
July 30,2023

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