The poet strings words,
His private glittering jewels,
But owns them not,
Crafts his final piece
A thing of beauty.
I poet, may give my love,
A jewel, a gem, a rose,
Not mine,
Joined by my hand
My heart,
To necklace, bouquet,
Loving poem,
The gift becomes mine,
A paean of my love,
For my gifted lover.