John Piper’s Poem for His Wife on Valentine’s Day

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Valentine’s Day, 2011

God’s first thought, my adolescent dream,
slat-slashing dusty-barn beam
from and to the Sun;
my flesh, myself, my one,
my church in parable, in truth;
my Rachel, my Abigail, my Deborah, my Ruth,
the eyes, the wit, the bravery,
the sweat and loyalty,
my cornucopia, my cluster-laden vine, my tree
my cedar, my ecstasy;
fingers through my forearm on the way,
my pride, my pilgrim, my stay;
alive, alive with every sense,
my first, my last, my hoped-for audience;
knower, mirror, stayer,
elbow to elbow prayer;
my sons’ womb, their food, their milk,
their rock, and even now, their silk;
my feminine, my womanly, my softness,
sweet peace, this silver pillow’s tress;
my daughter’s world, her confidant,
life’s interpretation, direction for the yawning want;
fellow-heir, world’s heir, King’s seed,
co-inhabitant of thrones, compassion canopied;
better than jewels, better than gold,
ever-creating hands, from strands twelve-fold
a woven Gramma’s heart, Heaven-bent,
arch, curve, swell, living interface, sent;
my ransomed, my chosen, my bond,
my second pearl, beyond
the world and all it offers me;
my window, my sky, where I can see
in you my one sure Non-rejection,
anchored affection,
present, for me, without pursuit,
my earthly absolute.