She is, to me, like Abstract Scenery;
She is a gentle mist on a dark and silver midnight,
She is the touch of spring flowers on a meadow in may,
She is the glowing summer heat from a beam of sunlight,
She is the subtle scent of petrichor after a soft and rainy day,
She is the thicket closing cover of black and shrouding midnight,
She is a pillar of star dust under the full moons churning sorrow,
She Is the lusted lasting lines of broad night breaking twilight,
She is the dawns hopeful rising, and the dreams of overmorrow.
She is the lights sweet first kiss and the cool breath of a fine winter breeze,
She is the waving sea of bedrock whose tide strangles softly the lonesome parts of my soul from me,
She is the soft scratch of branches and the touch of moist April morning leaves,
She is the feeling of heaven, and beautiful Abstract Scenery.
I swear, as the feeling goes, she is, to me.