Poem: Ode to Love

Knowing you awakens my poetic fervor. Millions of drops of ink transform into word after word, spilling onto pristine pages. Like raindrops, verses of love crowd my mind until they pour down as a heavy rain of love poems. Love poems that declare a profound longing. Like a blazing flame, I write everything upon these pages, so they are no longer white. It will never cease, unless I stop it. It will never end, unless I die. Death of body, death of feeling. Who knows which will come first. With these fingers, I pour out this love poem, hoping one day you may read it. Piece after piece of paper, telling only of you, my love. I hope you become an umbrella that shelters all my verses of longing for you, or like a parched pond, glad to receive water once more. This, my dear. This is my fervent feeling. I entrust everything between pen and paper, for there is no better keeper of secrets than literature. Nothing is sweeter than honey, save for profound strings of words, laden with the meaning of love that sincerely touches the heart, whispering, melodious like the voice of a fairy in a golden forest. As white as Lady Galadriel's hand, that is my love. As beautiful as the verses of Lothlórien, that is my love poem. Though perhaps not as gentle as the song of Elbereth Gilthoniel, I entrust it to Aragorn's love poem to persuade the elf Arwen Undómiel. Or Beren persuading Lúthien Tinúviel. Amidst spring, where flowers bloom.