Wrought in depths of feeling’s light,
It may falter in the night.
Through a spark it was conceived,
But now it lives on in deed.
Mere words cannot express
The feelings in one’s chest.
But in their solemn absence
Will the words still make sense?
Proof is in a pudding’s taste,
But not a heart’s pounding race.
Actions are the truer words
Beyond the bees and the birds.
Emotions are the lesser sense,
When deeds live on in the absence.
Works wrought upon the icy breast
Mold more than words would impress.
In a covenant’s demands,
Actions over words must stand.
Important to the fight are both,
But one binds with stronger rope.
Love is fragile in the tones,
Where it loans more than it owns.
But the acts build stronger homes,
Anchored in cement and stone.
by Ryan Wormald