if i'm to speak of you at all, or when

      if i'm to speak of you at all, or when
      there need be nothing less than a prayer
      that all men should stop to hear me uttter,
      what can I say but what I think of you?
      there is a solemn piece of serenity
      that drifted itself in colloquium,
      perhaps in a surfeit of flattery
      that beauty and goodness are truly you.
      despite all the raptures that fade in flight,
      I can't deny the heavenly abode
      from which all manifestations of the
      magnificence in your being had come.
      if you should ask me what I feel for you,
      there isn't anything fitting to say.

            Lowell R. Luis
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