Read it from the pages, my love, and be assured,
That in the prose where noone knows yet what’s next to come,
The mystery, behind those words, behold all the cures,
Slowly. Slowly. Like a rose it all unfolds at once.
But if you pause or look away you might just miss the bunce.
I love you, said in writing can never withhold le cœur.
Perhaps not grand, direct or clear but certainly’s the sum,
So read on in the pages, my love, and be allured.