I hear myself become repetitive;
The words I say run into one another,
My meaning slipping through them like a sieve,
Each one less key because of every other.
I try to make them meaningfully rare,
Not common as the place from whence they flow,
But such is love that it does not feel fair
To tell it it must let expression go.
I love, and I must say it, though it pale
Because of being said so very much;
Love will not falter, no, it will not fail
From being said - no, it was never such
A weak emotion. I must repeat, since I
Love so much I cannot let it lie.
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