You are the blank canvass
On which I would ever paint,
The art that no ill will surpass
Neither could hatred make faint.
Each time before me you pose
Like a replica of the Mona Lisa,
My ink is aroused to compose
Beautiful arts of you, my Melissa.
Oh, I wonder what I would do
If I was gifted like Michelangelo—
Perhaps all I’ll always paint is you
If I ever become like Picasso!
Yet I need not to be that excellent
To paint you my love, every moment.