Poem o'clock

I wrote this poem a while ago, it was for a friend's wedding and they were kind enough to allow me to publish it here, isn't that sweet. And they provided a free bar and everything, amazing.

They first asked me to do a reading, and then actually asked me whether I had any suggestions. I couldn't find anything that felt appropriate enough to them, or I hadn't heard before several times....so I thought I would have a go (while, in fact, on the way to and working at an optometry conference in Dublin). Thankfully they liked it, which was great because I had ABSOLUTELY NO OTHER IDEAS AND WE'D HIT A DEADLINE.

This is it, it's called Love Isn't.

Love Isn't.

Love isn’t:

Holding a door,

Sweeping the floor

Or rubbing your shoulders when they feel sore.

It’s not:

Cooking you dinner,

Saying, “you’re thinner”,

Taking out the bins in the middle of winter.

It isn’t:

Working a duster,

Or maintaining a lustre,

Or feigning an interest in some action blockbuster.

It’s not:

Bringing you treats,

Chocolate and sweets,

And watching your favourite televisual repeats.

It is not even:

To have and to hold,

In hot and in cold,

It’s not a declaration, if I may be so bold.

Love is:

All the tiny little bits in-between,

The fact unproved and the thought unseen.

It is simply something you know and you feel:

Enchanting, noble, glorious and real.