Poet Tree

If I could be what I would be
I’d like to be a poet tree.
When day was bright and hot was sun
I’d give you shade till day was done.

My branches would be filled with birds
Who’d sing to you my loving words.
When rain did fall I’d catch each drop
Till all the falling came to stop.

Then, if you wanted house more sound,
I’d have men chop me, chop me down,
To make for you a home of wood,
Where I would hold you, warm and good.

Within my walls you’d dance and sing,
And I would echoes through you ring,
And you would lean against me there,
And I would sigh for touch so fair.

And then, I’d whisper soul’s command
And you would reach a gentle hand
And tap, as if you understood
The honest love within that wood.

A tap, a touch, with palm of bliss;
Caress of cheek; then, Oh, light kiss.
And all my walls would wrap you round
Till we woke up in joy profound,
And you’d see me, not house, not tree,
But Poet of Lovology.

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