To thoughts sublime I must compare
The simple softness of your air.
And that nature does demand,
Feelings I do not yet understand.
For every sleight of hand in grace,
In turn moves me, a restless wake,
Who cannot eat, nor sleep, nor dream,
Except of you and you-related things.
If I had but one request, this would be,
To recieve and return your love fairly,
As you are that which ties all ends,
Of heavenly things to comprehend.

T.W. Jolin