You asked me once
on the thought of someone better.
And I said, oh,
no one would be better than you. 
None but I, an impossibility. 
 
But I think now, again, 
that there will be no one better:
falling short to compare, always
until a comparison would be
a silly thing to make. 
 
No one sweeter or kinder, 
No one more loving
or brighter, 
None more perfect for me
than you.

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