No Longer A Stranger

Poetry was a stranger to me 

till not too long ago, 

when I caught Her eyes chasing my step

from the bough of an oak tree. 

I walked faster into the summer dusk

and tried to escape Her lingering gaze,

but my efforts would die in vain.

Once I had noticed Her 

She refused to let me go.

I saw Her blushing in sunrise.

I saw Her freckles speckle the night sky.

I heard Her speak to me in bluebird’s tune,

and I saw Her smile woven in my mother’s doilies. 

I began to reach out to Her

just to see what She had to say.

She was timid at first

so I wrote Her a verse,

see if I could make Her play.

Its chime made Her smile

and Her smile drove me wild.

So I wrote to Her every day

about the moon and the sea spray.

Soon, though, doubt and insecurity

sunk its teeth in my thoughts.

What if it’s not worthy?

Am I wasting my time? 

Like silhouettes in the moonlight,

they blocked Her hopeful glow.

Determined to maintain my faith,

She crossed my path in a firefly’s glow.

She showed me no appreciation of art

was a fruitless pursuit.

She encouraged me to go on,

no matter the rank of my words; 

for She maintained their value in Her strength,

and vanquished the darkness within me.