How brightly the heavens choose to smile on me
and don me with the brightest and most colorful regalia
by adorning me with a priceless covering as you.
Even nature pitches its tent to my side
and makes its stars align in my favor.
How fortunate I am amongst my peers.

I am a lazy poet, but I want to sit back on a wingback chair
in the cool of the day under the gentle blowing from a myrtle tree
as I pore over leaves, scribbling verses upon verses for you.
Like the physician’s glove, you fit safely into the form of my heart.
I want to write of this simile in copious stanzas.

A man cannot be more blessed than to be gifted with a gem as you;
a gem who harvests nothing but fulfilment and solace for its admirer.
I am not ignorant of the potency of God to meet supplications,
But how could I have thought He will yield this effortlessly?

I am a lazy poet, but I want to pen you intimate sonnets and rhymes
deftly laced with keenly strung puns and music-reciting alliterations.
I have a croaky voice, but shy not away from my special serenades.

I am a lazy poet, but I want to write profusely of your beauty
which spreads like the water in the sea
and whose mightiness no sane folk will want to repudiate.
I want to pen panegyrics on your dexterously sculpted lips
and the sweetness that proceeds from them when they meet and part.

A poet is a poet, but not without his muse.
Care you not being a lazy poet’s daily muse?









Photo by Vova Stegantsov on Unsplash