In honest hues my heart finds grace, Though romance may not paint my face, A steadfast pulse in rhythm true, Beats evermore—each beat for you. The path to love may lack the art, Yet know, dear soul, you own my heart; In all my worlds, you are the sun, The axis 'round which life is spun. Though sonnets' charm I may not trace, My heart remains your sacred space; For even when the words fall short, You are my life's most loved report.