To think that you were born in a world such as this.



You, whose luminous eyes

shame the blue of Spring’s fairest skies;

whose blushing lips were made to speak of naught but love,

and to kiss.



You are too fine a thing –

too rare, too divine a human being

for this sordid time and place.



But is God not also here

in this world of man’s creation?



Let all scientific argument fall to the side,

the atheist has clearly never seen your face.

God is not a question with an answer to hide.



God is there in the lines of your bones,

the gleam of your eyes, the sweet elation

which even the thought of you imparts.



Your presence, a balm to this sore world,

is, I find, a vexation to the poet in me –

for your Holy beauty and grace of mind

surpass all my meager arts.



What a blessed man must I be

to love and be loved by thee.



- for Sarah -