The goddess of my love does work for me;
She writes my poems out on her perfect page.
Her happiness does lift and set her free
From all her heavy past and coming age.
I’m glad of this, am I, made very light
To know that gladness fills her, too, that she
Has work—and play—that makes her day glow bright,
And Lo! it sings in my own poetry!
Yet not my own alone, for she inspires,
Gives truest meaning to, each chosen word—
Each word a winging bird that never tires
To make itself more sweetly, deeply heard.
The goddess of my love does work for youth
That lives inside the heart of love’s own truth.