Elizabeth, where can ye be?
I’ve waited a lifetime for thee;
I know you’re out there, set apart,
because of words that say thou art.

The person that I’d love the best
won’t look like they’d hold much int’rest;
the person that I’ll truly love
may not look like whom I’ve thought of.

It’s hard to find the perfect mate
when vision’s often insensate;
it’s not her figure or her clothes —
there’s other qualities I chose.

The portraits of her don’t disguise
I won’t love this one with my eyes;
but when I listened to her mind,
I knew that this love would be blind.

The one that I may first ignore
will often be her I adore;
Elizabeth, without Facetune —
it’s what’s inside that makes me swoon.

Forget her smile, her looks, her way —
these ornaments change day to day;
I’ll count the ways that I’ve been smote —
it’s from the comely words she wrote.

Elizabeth, it’s who ye are
and not some hollow avatar;
it’s not how your form gets arrayed,
it’s from the poems ye have made.