She sings her heart in conversation
I listen - so familiar
I have known those songs
all these growing years

Silent though,
my pulse restrained
withholds it's voice
that it not fall too jangled,
too boldly on her ears

I noticed her
from far across the narrow room
an orchid
amongst the varletry

- and never said to her
"You are fancy
as a Gypsy Moth -
fine
as silver filigree"

In darkness
some might scratch for coal
but throw aside
in some myopic carelessness
the unseen jewel

I,  by light of recognition
and having the appraisal
of my constant, gleaning heart
would never be that kind of fool

but now I ask,
uneasy;
is it equally prodigal
to sit in silence
only listening -

to leave unsung my brazen song
my lyric recognition
of you,
that diamond
glistening
 ?