Thy face, so fair, a canvas to mine eyes;

thy mix of gentle hues leave me speechless,

for they are more lovely than the sun's rise.

Thou hast transformed my world from colorless;

the shades of thine eyes brighten up my sky.

Thy lips, a simple, perfect stroke of paint

that smears into a stream when thou dost cry.

And when thou smiles, paint becomes a constraint.

But thou dost not know about my vision,

about my dreams of thine eyes as a dove

in clouds; and my lips hide a confession...

What would happen if I professed my love?


So long as I live, thou've nothing to fear.


E'er on this canvas, I shall keep thou near.