I Can't Help But Praise

I wandered like never,
For a forbearing ear to hear,
The praise, I always bore in mind,
For a modest lass of charm,
And her affection, half revealed,
And scarcely, half hidden,
In my inner self, a new lustre,
As if my words were never,
So truthful, never so honest,
And now, when I have found,
An ear, dwelling in Middle East,
My vocabulary, seems too lean,
I am strained, to ask them -
Those grey-haired wise men,
To lend me their words,
To convey to him, the boon he got,
And then to him, I could express,
The praise, I always bore in mind.

(This poem was written in 2004 as a gift to one of my sisters on her betrothal. She is now living with her family in Muscat.)