Wonderful Things

She asks me to speak
Wonderful things,
Golden words,
On shimmering wings.

She asks me to speak
In amazing verse,
Showers of praise
And fantasy.

She asks me to speak
Sugar and spice,
The most sweet,
Fragrant kind.

She asks me to speak
Brilliant prose,
And wondrous rhyme,
From a silver tipped tongue.

She aske me to speak
Yet I stay mute,
The words will not come,
Wonderful things...

I can think of many
Only nebulous shadows
Of beauty and wonder
As yet unvoiced.

She looks at me,
Beautiful face expenctant;
I look into her shimmering eyes
And she asks me to speak;

Alas, I cannot.

      -- Bem Jones-Bey 2.15.2001