Things base and vile, holding no quantity,
Love can transpose to form and dignity.
Love looks not with the eye, but with the mind,
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
See there''s this place in me where your fingerprints still rest,
your kisses still linger, and your whispers softly echo.
It''s the place where a part of you will forever be a part of me. . .
