Libran Grace
I turn internal, trapped in the furnace of life
And who is it that turns to me, softly,
Easily, naturally
It is she!
Her movement is like the wind—
One moment she is flying off in some nether region,
The next, she is a breeze of beauty brushing against my face
Content and cool,
Fervent with consolation
A gait demanding attention and a pose
Breathing art and intelligence
Her silhouette melts in my arms
In the dead of night, she is a precious child
And in the day, her fur glistens red
A lazy gleam in her eye as the sun kisses her frame
A gothic angel with attitude,
She is there like a Proverb on a trying day,
Simply simple, perfectly perfected
She reminds me of what love really comes from
The source of the winds lead to her fairylike touch
I rest assured by her presence,
That in them I shall never depart
From her breathes of sheer delight and art
Her coat ripples in response to my grievances
Her whiskers tic in my cries for repentance,
She possesses the ability to observe and remain
To comfort and sustain
Playful magic beating in her paws
She lightly treads upon my fears
As her pupils enlarge, watching intently,
Claws readied to pounce on its ugly movement
She loves to abolish discomfort
Whilst maintaining her loveliness
Yeah, she never wastes her time
Where she appears, she surely wants to me
If there is dread she will devour
If there is no respect, she will fly
So when she graces me with her presence
With her healing breezes,
I receive her with a relieving sigh
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