She is the embodiment of the grace and glory of ten thousand women,
Housed in the mortal frame of one great beauty, so full of substance and meaning.
How will other women get through life without the gifts which were taken from them
And imparted to her? How will they endure her presence by comparison?
I would speak loving things to her and yet no words could be summoned
That would capture the exquisite pain of my adoration. Glorious anguish.
With deepest longing I would tell her one, two, three in rapid succession
I love you and ache for her to hear it, a release for my soul to express it.
My awkward silence does us both a disservice, for she desires to be loved
As any woman, who was created to be a recipient of lasting affection.
I may be unworthy, but extolling love is for my own soul's health and peace
And I do say it not only in words, but with passing glances and an occasional blushing countenance.