Angels
When I stroll into her eyes,
I'd like to see angelic brow and lid;
For in her eyes, mysteries lies:
The mysteries I think I need.
And shall I say that when she's in tears,
I'd like to place a cup beneath her eyes?
Maybe to drink them; for over the years,
My Angel's tears remains a Juicy dice.
Too sweet were they to roll her cheeks for nothing;
For absolutely nothing about her is useless.
Of all the Angels I see, for something,
She excels them all. Nonetheless,
She remain an Angel of Angels;
For every of her handshakes are tender
And every of her smile is ever charming as nightingale's.
Ought not I to always be her defender?
I'll treat her not preferentially, but specially;
For my Angel was created for me exceptionally.
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