In the battle of the poets
Closeted within their dens,
Words their only ammunition,
Shooting from their ink filled pens,
Seeking phrase uniquely pretty
And an unused metaphor,
They have not the time to help me
Woo the one whom I adore.
You have loved me through the worries
You've stood by me through the pain.
I have found you there still waiting
When the world was bright again.
Without muse or bard assistance,
Am I equal to the game?
In trite words of adoration
Will the message be the same?
I can't say it grandiosely
As I show this love of mine.
The old hackneyed words must do then.
Will you be my Valentine?
Joyce Johnson lives in the beautiful Skagit Valley of Washington State. She owns a small farm and rents her land to a bulb grower. She is surrounded by beauty in the spring from the tulips and daffodils that inspire much of her poetry. Joyce will celebrate her 95th birthday in July of 2013.