The picture of you: A poem 

I can’t count the stars in the sky 

I can’t count the leaves of trees 

I can’t count the pores on my skin 

But I can definitely count on you 

A fog clears, and it’s a ghost of yesterday’s storm 

Shadows gyrate in the burst of today’s dawn 

Flowers pollinate to the busy bees’ swarm 

There’s a rainbow in every puddle for the forlorn 

Every droplet is a reminder of the freshness of dew 

There’s a young tale in every graveyard’s old yew 

I am thoughtful over last night’s visit by a spiritual crew 

And there is a silhouette of hope in the ramparts of truth 

It is infinite like two mirrors reflecting each other 

As miraculous as a fledgling flying without feather 

The laughter of innocence has no fear or shudder 

Thus, I give my smile to every empty-handed brother 

I am happy with a mere pittance and crumb 

Iotas are dreams on the digits of my thumbs 

I am a shutterbug of my illusions, that I view 

Captured forever in the album of my soul is the picture of you