Imperfect words with perfect love cannot
contend nor hope to love's sweet touch
convey. Among such uninspired a lot
as they, this joy sublime reads not as such.
Still faith I ask of you that all
I write rings truer in my heart than on
my page. Such joy I know from love's great fall
that each new day be life's unending dawn.
No word of him has passed my lips nor 'scaped
my pen nor shall it now, for word of him
would be but words and air. He shall be traiped
not so through rhyme despite my love - the lure.
I pause, so little can contend a scarcity
of words with his and love's infinity.
Happy Tenth Mothsary, Hun!
What we have might not be the ideal from the start, but each day I believe that we are both growing and building our castle of love.
I love you much!