Love is merely a word which cannot describe how I feel about you. For the loveliest of verses cannot make me smile the way you do. Because you, my dear, deserve far much more than those four letters which are the understatement of love.
Love is but a summary; a generalization of romance, and you, my dear, deserve far much more.
I promise you love to the power of a million horse drawn chariots on a midsummers day. I promise you love of the plentitude of all the acorns gathered by the squirrels for winter. I promise you the love of the first song sung by the doves in spring.
You are the beauty of the first snowfall, and the relief of the last. You are the thaw, the buds on the trees. You are the first golden leaf. The sun may not shine as bright as your eyes; the moon may never again light my night. You are the soil in which I plant my roses, you are the ground on which I plant my feet.