She sighed, such a soft breathe
As if her exhale were the gentle cry of angel
A sorrowful smile stared obverse me
Even her tears, comparable to the sun
Her delicate little hands frail and cold
Yet the most beautiful things on Earth
As if God created them with light and love and snow
She; a single dove; white and pure, illuminating that dark
before the sunrise
Like a single hope, a belief in beauty, faith in the savior
My savior,
My guardian,
My white rose,
Does she love me? It matters not
She is a beacon for the lost sailor, unable to find home;
Proof that stars still shine
To explain her would be unattainable;
Perhaps God spoke to the devil
Proving his humble, begging for peace
And for a moment, evil relented
Creating delicate little hands
Highlight text to see picture.
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