Many, many years ago (15 at this point, maybe), I discovered what remains my favorite love poem – “Love” by Roy Croft. I rediscovered it a few weeks ago and as Valentine’s Day approaches and I brace for the holiday as a much more mature, self-aware 30-year old, it touched me all over again, but for a whole new set of reasons.
The 15-year-old who discovered this poem had grand illusions of love and romance and though she appreciated the sentiment of the poem, it was about romantic love – the kind of romantic love she was convinced would come her way at any moment.
The 30-year-old who reads it now takes something a little different away. Yes, deep down she hopes that someday she finds a mate who embodies this poem, but can’t for a moment discount all the amazing people already in her life who already do on a daily basis, who are “helping [her] make out of the lumber of [her] life not a tavern, but a temple. Out of the works of [her] every day not a reproach, but a song.” So, thank you (you know who you are!) for loving me into the woman I want to be…
I love you,
Not only for what
You have made of yourself,
But for what
You are making of me.I love you
For the part of me
That you bring out;I love you
For putting your hand
Into my heaped-up heart
And passing over
All the foolish, weak things
That you can’t help
Dimly seeing there,And for drawing out
Into the light
All the beautiful belongings
That no one else had looked
Quite far enough to findI love you because you
Are helping me to make
Of the lumber of my life
Not a tavern
But a temple.Out of the works
Of my every day
Not a reproach
But a song.I love you
Because you have done
More than any creed
Could have done
To make me good.
And more than any fate
Could have done
To make me happy.You have done it
Without a touch,
Without a word,
Without a sign.You have done it
By being yourself.
Perhaps that is what
Being a friend means,
After all.by Roy Croft
