When you tell me I overpraise your worth
By using words like “perfect,” “lovely,” “sweet,”
And swear it’s just an accident of birth
That made your body such a luscious treat,
Then I add “modest” to my litany.
Sweet is to you what relics are to Rome.
As for your body, this is what I see:
The stunning mansion that your soul calls home.
You say your talents don’t deserve applause?
I say, let’s make not praising you a crime.
Don’t even try to tell me you have flaws --
I get that line from diamonds all the time.
You claim your heart’s a vase no praise can bloom in?
How perfect can you get? You’re even human.
copyright 2010 by Matthew J Wells