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

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.