By: Donovan Baldwin

I would gladly heap praises round your head,
As well you know, and I have already done.
I would add new words, extolling your intelligence,
Your compassion, your beauty, your wit,
And so much more.

I could sing your praises, over and over,
Neither tiring of the telling, or
The memory of what you mean to me.
But...

What would it profit me to praise you?
No gold would come of it,
No warm and willing partner in my bed,
No crown, no jewels, no exaltation,
From yourself or others.\

So...

What would it profit me to praise you?
It would be the glad and joyful swelling in my heart
As the words left my pen and placed themselves,
Forever on the page.

The profit would lie within the praise itself,
Requiring no other recompense but knowledge,
That I have said that which ought be said,
Again,

What would it profit me to praise you?
Why, my very life, and soul, and joy,
And all good things which may come.