A Scrawl

I want to sing something– but this is all–
I try and I try, but the rhymes are dull
As though they were damp, and the echoes fall
Limp and unlovable.
Words will not say what I yearn to say–
They will not walk as I want them to,
But they stumble and fall in the path of the way
Of my telling my love for you.
Simply take what the scrawl is worth–
Knowing I love you as sun the sod
On the ripening side of the great round earth
That swings in the smile of God.

by James Whitcomb Riley