Yet Still You Ask Me

Do I love you, you ask?

Do I love you?

You, who is so perfect of face?

You, whose eyes encompass the stars?

Do you not know that the sun,

In its continuous journey of death and rebirth,

Only rises so that it may shine upon you?

Did the gods not make you such a desirable image?

I carry out your every wish,

I have bent to your finicky whims.

Have I not done this for you?

Have I not trembled in your angry presence

And jubilated in your pleasure?

Have I not danced on pins and needles to ensure your happiness?

I have done all this, yet still you ask me,

Do I love you?

Do you not act like a god,

Needing constant worship to prove to you my faith?

If it is so, then I will tell it to you,

However often you may ask:

I love you.