My Love

My Love Thought tells me you are no more fair than sunlight seen through dappled leaves, your walk bears no more startling grace than fawns at play in morning air. The colors of your cheek no more surprise than flowers on a wild green hill and stars amaze the velvet night As much as I am by your eyes. Your touch falls no more gently down than butterfly upon the rose, the Celtic harp at twilight sounds as lovely as your voice at dawn. A lingering Summer's day in June spreads as much warmth as does your smile. Strands of your hair combine with no more grace than branches dancing beneath the Moon. But thought compares what it can see, Heart hears songs that thought can never see.