A joy that has journeyed through much lamentation,
A love that gives, and gives,
Not in order to receive
Yet knowing how you need, and need.

You say to keep on asking you
And you promise that I will receive.
There is no demand in your voice,
Harsh though at times it seems.
So I neither do demand
Though I too need, and need.

And yet, what is this passion
That shuns shallow desire,
What is this agony that pain cannot explain,
And such comfort to speak in words this fire.

Each feeling, each emotion that is mine
Embraces my will and yours as they all entwine.
Such comfort to speak in words this fire…
The painting, the poem that is ours.