Grace envelopes her with a placid light
angels whisper gold above her halo,
perhaps a seraph in mortal bind?
What else could explain
her aura, a haven against tumultuous musings of a neurotic soul?
Her beauty akin to the unwithering roses of Eden
her lips, tender and soft, hold a voice like a heavenly harp.

I curse my language and all it's writings
aged and refined, not a single word
encapsulates her divinity.
Deathless words, that live and speak,
outlasting time and their authors in the void.
Warmth from the soul, inspiring faithful and foolish alike.
Gentle pour of heart, heedless of fear and shame
ebullient intercourse of a sharp tongue.

Yet I write, to share pain unending
of a dire misfortune cast upon fiery passion
that now withers at full bloom.
These tears, unspare'd, are mine,
overflowing in dreary eyes.
My words belated, for which I lament as well,
they become a muted scream
"Look! Cast in white and encased in arbor
lies my muse, my best passion and love!
Her lambent complexion still a contest
for celestial nights!"