Take for granted that I would never fight against a lady, for such fair beauty and pure sight never should be disturbed by the scars of battle. Never should the cleanness of your skin, the twinkling sparkle in your eyes be extingusihed by the violence of a dispute.
Instead, I would cherish and worship; love and admire the light that you, like seven burning stars, pour into my lonely, wretched heart. A heart torn to as many pieces as leaves grow on the branches of the trees, all along the hills and fairy rings, or leaning against the rivers' calm waters. Waters that flow quietly, just like the words of your sweet voice, the whispers of your soul, floating among your lips up to beyond my thoughts, beyond my dreams, into the ghastly images of your beauty that haunt me every night, defeating the shine and beauty of the moonlight pouring through my window.
And as I close my eyes, the eyelids like courtains that fall over the stage of the world, and engulf my sight with darkness, only the light of your smile visits me, enlightening my new found world. For you are a queen. The perfect queen for the kingdom I have made for you. A kingdom of flaming passion and quiet love. A kingdom of loud moans and low whispers. Of burning stars and twinkling moons.
So come then, my love, I beg of you to take my hand. To let me be your shining knight and fend off the dakness that lurks in your nightmares. Come and let us walk side by side, among the rivers and the trees, over the leaves on the fairy rings and up to the sunset hills.