To the immortal emotions I hold for her,
To the feelings I conjure all the time around her,
To the comprehensions I must make of her own,
To the depths of her soul I have yet known,
What lies beneath everything I find appealing about her?
What carries beyond everything wonderful I could say about her?
Where in any sane mind would one want to leave her grace?
All reality blurred the moments face to face.
I try hard to understand the thoughts and emotions she comes from,
Yet in the end, it is only I who leans something still must be done.
There is no grace in my features, my words, or my pride.
Only in my everlasting love for her that I do confide...

Penned by my hand on the 8th of Naturalis, in the year 503 AD.