It's very hard to flatter her at all
When everything that I could say is true;
No tale that I could tell would be too tall,
No story I could spin would be too too.
It's simply true that she is beautiful
And carelessly exudes a certain grace.
And to say so but makes me dutiful
In honest recognition of her place.
How can I praise beyond what is beyond,
Or mark myself unique when all must praise?
It does not make me special that I'm fond
For all are who observe her looks and ways.
I can but hope that I, somehow, will be
The lucky one who finds she dotes on me.
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