If ever I was a mariner,
your beauty would be my ship.
To sail on seven oceans,
from the grasps of land I slip.
To see the world so far and wide,
But by the end, still in you I would confide.
Lovely by description,
to say otherwise would be heresy.
The sea so full of graceful fish,
So responsibility falls right on me,
To chronicle your perfection by any means,
And such has been my endeavor,
But always do I fall short.
O' perfection is impossible to commit to paper,
To memory, or mind.
And that you are a perfect being
reflected on the water.
