Is there a reason why we paint her face
With such a garish, gaudy quality,
With all the words of elegance and grace,
And ev'ry phrase that forms frivolity?
Is it our love that causes ill-restraint?
Our beating heart that keeps repeating lies?
Our boundless passion making her a saint?
Is sunlight truly dimmer than her eyes?
O, I have no such words to lend to thee,
No such eloquence or frilly, foppish phrase,
And often I might doubt what I may see
And secondguess this hourly daily daze,
But you and your and all thine love I need,
Unadulterated by poetic deed.