• There is a problem
    With all promises;
    Words are but words,
    There is no record
    Of stable substance
    That holds the promise.
    Let this poem, made
    For you alone my love,
    Be a record of my own
    Promises kept henceforth.
    I promise to remain
    In only your arms and
    In pain only by your hand.
    I promise to continue
    To love you with a
    Heart full of passion,
    Until the day that
    Death itself comes
    To strangle my own life.
    I promise to always care
    For you when you are
    Ill, and to worry over
    Your health when you
    Are not. All this
    I swear to you, my love,
    For now, I am yours.