How can I say I love you when
it's all been said before?
No new and clever turn of phrase
will prove I love you more.
What metaphor of summer's day
or red, red rose will show
the magnitude of love that burns
within my heart and soul?
I will not count the ways I love
or miss you when you're gone.
Nor shall I weave with golden threads
a mat you'll walk upon.
And yet, by heav'n I do believe
my love for you is rare,
though sonnet-pleading fantasies
suggest none else compare.
I only know I love you! though
my words fall short of depth.
Accept my oath: that I will love
you better after death.