With pen in hand, I of you do write
An angelic form, which doth use your name
And to you I praise, with all my might
My feelings are nothing, my words are the same
But your beauty, untamed as the sky it is
The weight of your soul, my heart doth bear
Your wonderment, envy to angels it is
Your silken soft skin, with gossamer hair
With but a look my way, to the clouds I do soar
Whilst upon your heavenly words I doth ride
Each word from your lips, searching for more
My unspoken love, for you I must hide
My feeling, they grow each time your away
The worst of all this, my love was my decayPaine's Poems
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