There is nothing so gentle,
As the woman claiming to be
The certainty for herself.
I offer condolence,
And she falls on her hands
And knees, to kiss the toes,
Of a man who has allowed her to escape
From a pain, from a fate that was calling
Her, to come away.
From her eyes, rained many tears.
Only a ruined soul, to this one woman,
Could be harmed further by a delicate pride.
She would stand with toes curled,
And eyes upon her hands to the sky.
I would offer what is needed,
So that she calls herself to collapse,
And she begins to wither in my arms,
Now raining petals,
To be counted.
What a love I have for this child.
There is much to admire,
In your vulnerability.
Much to smile over, and to call beautiful,
In that vulnerability.
There is much to adore,
In your trembling.
Much to find comfortable, in your tears,
And from your trembling arms.
For beauty is only beautiful,
When admired by love.
I would not burn the tree,
But keep it embraced,
As I love her,
I will keep her rooted.