Were I to sing of my love
The tune could not sound as deep
The melody nowhere as sweet
As the sound of her breath as she sleeps
If I were to speak of her beauty
Resulting words could only fail
Though my honor and my duty
Descriptions devised would seem lifeless and pale
If I were to write her a poem
To express my devotion; though rebuked
I would chance to make my feelings known
The very length of it would span the ocean
Were I to sing of my love
The angles would cry, the flood tides arise
A new world be born, if she’d but let me inside
Then I too could be beautiful
She is all. That which she loves, I love. That which she hates, is anathema to me. Though she may never be my woman, I will always be her man.
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