Were I, a better poet; such a wondrous Poesy I would write
to steal your heart, soft as a kiss upon your sweet, Rose-petal cheek.
A Magical confection to caress your senses with delight,
Alas, I am, but simple Wordsmith; where then, would I, such words, seek?

Words to cause the Sun to flee; to seek the clouds; to hide her face,
jealous, in her petulance in knowing, she cannot prevail
before your radiant smile; nor, can the Moon outshine your luminous grace,
and thus, in callow, wanesome pique; fades to a shadow, slivered pale.

Such words, the very Stars to dim; fractious, in the soft, night air;
Wan, against the sparkle; such sweet beauty dancing, in your eyes.
Words to cause soft, summer breeze to lonesome, whimper in despair;
Your kiss, now, soft upon my face; far sweeter than her Zephyr sighs.

Alas, such Poesy is undone, less words since spent, are spent a'new.
I find for You, but three words, ever fresh in spending...
I Love You.