My Love is like no other love,
And none can imitate her.
It’s only her I’m thinking of—
My Love, her self-creator.

She’s made her individual,
Unique, exceeding rare.
She is to me my capitol;,
From lips, to eyes, to hair.

And oh, the way she speaks to me!
She often reads my mind.
I, too, know when her “hee-hee-hee”
Will laugh with me so kind.

And yet, so unexpected are
Her sudden, brilliant words,
I’m gasping at a shooting star
While hearing baby birds!

She writes at night my poetry—
I praise her, and I bless;
Oh dear, you are my poetry;
Your soul, my happiness.

She is the reason why I live,
And why I’m often gay,
And nothing would I ever have
To change her any way.

She is complete, she’s sweet and true,
She’s all that’s pure and fine.
Oh, yes, my dear, I dream of you,
And all my dreams are mine.