She was worthy of all love.

I would not call myself a fool to deem more than the beauty of a face.

I would call it a hope to ever doted, or to dreamt her in my visions.

We've not always been as now.

We used to grow in era and devotion; we wandered the woods and the wild in time and manners.

I remember having dwelt in her young heart, the sanctum.

The angels above might as well envy her young heart, the shrine.

Her heart was my shield in wintry weather, and mine was her,

And when the dawn finally drew his entrance to the skies,

I saw no heaven but in her eyes.

Yet more than worthy of all love, her spirit struggled in the earth, air, and sea.

Still, I spoke to her of power, pride, and hope.

Alas! Dead was not a fantasy!

To her, I would look upon; it was when the soul would part,

Then came the calmness of the heart.

Let life then pass; my soul now will find itself alone.

I will be silent in this solitude,

Until the day when all her love before me lay!