Whispered Words

I learned to write of you in sadder days
And every word was a piece I chipped
From my heart. A fragment newly clipped
From the mosiac of my life, its blues and grays,
Its throbbing red. I gave to earn your praise
To make a pavement for your feet, I stripped
My soul for you to walk upon, and slipped
Beneath your steps to soften all your ways.

But now my poems are like blossoms, pale
Gathered from a grave with hopeful tears.
I ask for no recompense; I will not fail.
And while you did not heed, the long, sad years
Have passed. And now I scatter flowers frail
And whisper words of love which now you hear.

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