You say my words are beautiful; Thank You, Milady,You are kind.
They are... but thoughts; and, in my thoughts, You are always somewhere, there.
But, no surprise; for, when I write them, You dance brightly, in my mind,
and thus, explains perhaps, why words I rhyme are ever, sweet, and fair.

Yet, words I craft, are, but pale shadow of sweet thoughts I hold for You.
Such pictures that my heart would paint, cannot be compassed round with rhyme.
Such words do not exist... save, deep within the Soul... it is quite true;
and thus, cannot be written here, and I needs-must fail... every time.

Yet, though pale shadow, they may be, they have sweet virtue; they speak true;
and thus, may stand, as Portrait of a Love soft whispered, from the heart;
that cannot not dim as drifting years unwind... my tiny gift to You,
a sweet-versed Immortality; to shine, long after we depart.

These Heart-thoughts, echoing down the years; someday, should they be read by chance,
will whisper... She was truly loved; indeed, this was a Grand Romance.