She in her grace, fills the sky until blue;
as blue fills the sky, with clouds used as glue. Red is
but paint, for the sunset in her eyes;
the dawning of the sun shone a glare that is to rise.
Learning how to fly, with her beauty as my wings;
every air of her breath, is like music that doth sings.
Her voice does the clovers that are indeed a pair of four;
and her tears flutter the sea’s waves, crashing against the shore.
Her chest that beats the heart, that is to save my light from the dark.
Copyright October 16, 2015