I know that you are truly pretty.
I can sense that you are politely fair.
That the world rests in harmony within your eyes,
Of all these things I am clearly aware.
But what of the long lazy summer days?
Or the lonely afternoons?
Or when rain rests cold like tears against the pane?
Then what are the dreams locked deep in your heart?
Of which only the soul doth complain.
Who is the one that you think of?
As the silent hours draw to a close.
Who is the fortunate one?
Who tempers your thoughts?
Stirring such a steady heart from its gentle repose.
For he is indeed rich,
Possessing wealth beyond dreams.
For the earth, the stars and the heavens are his,
And all that falls in between.