Who is to know why the sun shines so bright?
Or the moon in her wisdom chases days early light?

Or why do the colors of crisp early dawn,
Cast images painted on the canvas of morn?

That mirror of silver that shimmers and dance,
The sun on the water your long listful glance.

The golden soft hue that reflects in your hair,
Those warm welcome arms, your scent in the air.

A cascade of color that streams from your face,
Resides in my heart now made pure by your grace.

The same force of fate that brought all these good things,
Brought me your sweet love and the joy that it brings.