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Gladdest Poem
by Francine DuBois

I can write the happiest poems of all today.

Write, for instance: "The sky is full of sun,
and the sun, yellow, glows its existence."

The day warms in the sky and sings.

I can write the gladdest poem of all tonight.
I loved him, and all the time he loved me too.

On days like this, he held me in his arms.
He kissed me so many times under the nourishing sky.

He loved me, all the time I loved him.
How could I not have loved his fingers, trembling?

I can write the perkiest poem of all today.
To know that I have him. To feel that I've won him.

To hear the welcoming sky, more welcoming with him.
And the poem floats to the soul as feathers to flight.

What does it matter that my love can keep him.
The sky is full of joy and he is with me.

That's all. Far away, someone cries. Far away.
My soul is home with him.

As if to bring him nearer, my eyes search for him.
My heart searches for him and he's right there.

The same day that gives the same flowers light.
We, we who were, we still are.

I still love him, true, and more than I did.
My voice needed no search to touch his ear.

No one else's. He will never be anyone else's. As he belonged to my kisses.
His voice, his light body. His welcoming arms.

I still love him, true, but perhaps more.
Love is so long and loneliness so far.

Because on days like this he held me in his arms,
My soul is home with him.

Although this may be this may be the first joy he causes me,
and this may be the first poem I write for him.

Flip side of Pablo Neruda's "Saddest Poem" (http://www.plagiarist.com/poetry/?wid=395)

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