What Art Thou to Me

To my Lady

Thou art myne world

and all that is worthwhile in it.

Madonna, when I attempt

to make myne love known to thee

myne tongue twists

myne brain refuses to function.

 

Would I were an Ovid, a Cyrano

a Shakespeare that trinity of

troubadours reciting sonnets

to make thee swoon.

 Alas I am but a poor singer of songs

a mere prattler of love poems

 

a mortal poet hoping to melt

the heart of a goddess.