I've realized i'm a terrible poet,
That my lines are tattered and bare:
Unfitting to describe your beauty,
Or the qualities that trigger my senses.
For your beauty is true
And pleases only not the sight.
But my nose even can perceive
Your sweetness from a distance.
Yet i do you injustice with tattered lines and lacking diction.
Oh! i wish i was a better poet,
Learned in the lexicon of the bard of Avon.
Then my lines will be the mirror
With which men attest that beauty
Walked the world in only one form: you!
And it aches my heart now
That i'm such a terrible poet