Our mother is the sweetest and
Most delicate of all.
She knows more of paradise
Than angels can recall.

She's not only beautiful
But passionately young,
Playful as a kid, yet wise
As one who has lived long.

Her love is like the rush of life,
A bubbling, laughing spring
That runs through all like liquid light
And makes the mountains sing.

And makes the meadows turn to flower
And trees to choicest fruit.
She is at once the field and bower
In which our hearts take root.

She is at once the sea and shore,
Our freedom and our past.
With her we launch our daring ships
Yet keep the things that last.

Secretaries seek some signs of pleasure
Emanating from the inner throne.
Clearly, each is an uncherished treasure,
Running the whole office on her own.
Even so, the voice is deferential,
Though the thought knows well who knows the score.
A moment's pause might seem inconsequential;
Remember, though, that patience wins the war.
In every secretary lives an angel,
Empathetic almost to a fault,
Self-sacrificing, sweet, and sentimental,
Deep within a twelve-inch concrete vault.
A decent word, with flowers or chocolate, may
Yet charm the cherub Secretaries Day.

Because like roots we intertwine,
Planted in a single place,
Your happiness is also mine,

Deep as love's first blood-borne sign
In that most intimate of space.
Because like roots we intertwine

And each for each the world design,
Wrestling towards a common grace,
Your happiness is also mine

Though shared in ways we can't define,
Too true to touch, too vast to trace.
Because like roots we intertwine,

Obliterating every line
That might divide our long embrace,
Your happiness is also mine

As you with nuptial vows combine
That love might weave its buried lace.
Like roots, your lives will intertwine.
Then let your happiness be mine!

To the father of my children:
Open up your willing heart!
Take what music I can give you,
Hearing, too, my silent song.
Even as, arrayed in passion,
Finding love, I play my part,
A wonder like a wind whips through me,
Truth unknown for which I long.
How beautiful, this unspent yearning,
Ever for the darkness burning,
Rising like a summer storm!

To my dad on his day,
Of whom I am a living will:
May your happiness fulfill
Your goodness, as is just and right.
Deeds are seeds upon the night
As wind and wonder have their way,
Delivering the destined light.

You taught me how to love you by
The way that you loved me;
And by your unseen sustenance,
To see what you could see.
You gave to me through who you were
The gift of what I am.
Your pride in me is now my pride;
Your faith, my caravan.

Your life does not conclude with death,
Nor will it end with mine,
For all the lives I touch, you touch,
And so on through all time.

Wedding Poems