AN ODE TO BROWN EYES
Back
in the day,
as
it is said today,
I
fancied myself a poet
like
Yeats wooing Maud Gonne
with
verse spun love,
or
some other poet of renown.
I
picked up a pen,
unsteady
as the legs of
a
new born colt,
and
wrote praise of your eyes,
your
lovely blue eyes.
Was
it with bemusement
that
you pointed out
to
my unseeing eyes
that
your eyes were brown?
As
if a veil had been removed
I
looked into your eyes
for
the first time,
your
deep, dark brown eyes,
and
looked into the
eyes
of God.
© 2011. Deacon Bob
Wagner OFS. All rights reserved.
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