SONG FROM THE SOUL

You sang to me -
without rhyme, without tune, without song,
for your voice was gone,
your verses dead, drowned beneath your smile.
One gift too many;
all that you are had overfilled the vial.
Too much beauty,
too much man to a single woman to belong.

But words are magic,
destined not forever to remain untold.
They drift away,
float, and fly, and nestle just below a cloud.
And there they spin
and weave a tender, omnicoloured shroud.

And so, you sang -
with your eyes, your fingertips, and with your soul.