A tear is going with the ink
As I write this poem of joy
For in my secret hiding place
Of sighs of love and pain from kindness
You have entered and sat down by me.
It is like a drastic miracle
With the incredibleness of a bomb
Or a spring day in December.
So good that I'm afraid of its frailty-
Lightly and gently I hold it
In an all velvet room in my heart
And watch and enjoy and savor
Its smoothness and colors
While hoping that it will become an antique.