His eyes are warmth and light, laughter and love; 
Arms strong as winter wind without the bite.
His voice reminds one of a God above 
A man like this is always worth the fight. 
Upon a cello nimble fingers play,
Each note a joy filled sound for all to hear;
If it were poison gladly would I pay 
To listen to such tones so strong and clear.
His words are not contrived from deep inside;
Rather they spill from open heart and soul.
In all he calls a friend he can confide,
And find that in such trust he can be whole.
  Alas, has he no love at all for me
  And he and I shall never become we.”