Aloft she is, like a sky clear and blue. And shy is her smile made, by that touching haze, of a cloud so pure and white. Adorn her face it does, with the dazzling glow of a freckle kept in place.
And just like light upon a place dark and cursed, so she does away the ills that seek to plague. Their pull, of millstones upon my back, she scatters away with the ease of wind upon chaff.
Often she steals into my thoughts, with her poise that charms. Her rolling stride much with the guise of a nap t