Flowers for the Lady

I'd pick flowers for her:
Small, bright ones, pink and white,
and tie them with the worn cord of a
fading bookmark cut from some forgotten work.

And if I placed them in a french paper box
among pages of poetry, sheets of music,
and a small, woven chain,
would it be delicate enough to show
how she enthralls me,
or would I need to continually
pour my soul to the page,
bind it in words,
and hand it daily in quiet, fragile pieces
until I loved her completely?

Perhaps both is best.
The small, tangible tokens given so readily,
show my inner heart the ease of loving her.