[Theo tells Polly how much he loves her]Theo: I've loved you, Polly, for as long as I've known you. But somewhere, somewhere along the way I stopped telling you. And that is why I'm so glad that here today in front of our friends and our loved ones, I'm able to tell you exactly what is in my heart. And this'll surprise you because it certainly surprised me: I've written a poem.Theo: Yours is the voice I hope to hear / When my phone says "One missed call". / Yours are the hands I want holding my ladder / When I'm papering the stairs and the hall. // Yours is the face I long to see / When I'm delayed at Waterloo. / And yours is the duvet I long to share / When my Calor gas is through. // Yours is the sartorial eye that I crave / When I'm having last minute suit doubts. / And yours is the hand that I want to hold / During funerals and penalty shoot-outs. // Long before my mind was made up / My heart belonged to you. / And at last I'm listening to all that it says / And I hope that you are too.
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