Pretty.

I tell you you're pretty, You say you are not. Though the truth is You're as pretty as the celtic knot. I tell you you're the best, And you keep on denying, yes. Though the truth is, You're perfect, nothing more, nothing less. You're so pretty That even words aren't enough to describe, The beauty of this woman That shall definitely become my wife. You are so perfect That even this poem cannot express, Or tell that you truly are the best. You really stand out, different from the rest. How are you even mine? I look chopped, while you look like God’s greatest design. Do not worry for in my mind, You are the prettiest woman, one can find. Now, if I tell you again that you are pretty, Would you now believe me? Or if I tell you that you're the best, Though it's much true, would you believe me? Even if you don't believe me, Still, you're pretty. And even if I became a blind man, I'd still see how beautiful you are. Though I now cannot see anything passing by, 𝘍𝘰𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦.