My dearest love, O butterfly of mine,
whom in my eyes is more than I deserve,
accept O goddess these words in your shrine;
these verses are my gift, your will they serve.

I can recall the day when we did walk
upon the cobblestone lantern-light streets,
and though we let our legs and heads a’wander,
our hearts did guide our lost and nervous feet.

We drank some tea, but we were drunk on love,
though we were green we knew it even then,
though not in conscience but in dreams thereof,
these arrows of the heart escaped our ken.

But my own mind was clouded in a storm
of worry and of silent judging rain;
the clouds of sorrow in my head did swarm
I could not flee this sudden lightning pain.

How harshly did I look upon myself,
though life was bright and fortune often smiled.
So for my miserly and wretched self
I only had disdain and words most vile.

Yet in your eyes there had appeared a flame
to warm the night and make more bright the day.
you look'd upon my sins with no more blame
then if you watched the inn'cent child at play.

The judging light your eyes does not corrode,
they see me in a gentle loving way
So to these orbs I will recite an ode;
please do not judge my rhymes or skills I pray:

     Your eyes alone these verses cannot capture,
     For as I stare they morph in front of me;
     But these poor lines are merely words on paper,
     A simple and unchanging melody.
     Golden as sunly warmth, brown strength of earth,
     As blue as oceans wide, and forests green;
     O bless’d must be the hour of your birth,
     To give your eyes more colors than a queen‘s.

Yet though this failed to show your eyes in whole
and could do naught to write the richness of your soul,
your soul it filled my verse and warmed my heart,
a promise that we’d never be apart.

Yet here we are, we knew it even then,
though I refused to let my thoughts there stray;
our love was bright, it led me through the night,
but though t’was good, it was not meant to stay.