She's A Beautiful God On A Pedestal Poem by Ros Venn

I glimpsed upon a god, sitting alone in the shade,
She was in her own world, hidden not displayed,
In front of her, the sun shined down a ray but not on her,
Instead, she had an aura of a reddish orange, perhaps a blur,
Her hair changing colours of ginger, orange, and red,
I could only admire; I am mortal, she might make me dead.

Time had passed, and at last she appeared again to me,
Not to speak to her, no rational reason could I see,
Boldly, I spoke not from my mind but from nerves,
I thought that perhaps it is me faith now serves,
It was then the moment in which she spoke a response,
I realised she was not a God, just a woman with nonchalance,

The heavenly pedestal that she had once posed on,
Disappeared, my fears along with them are gone,
Her lips moved, her name, it was simple, but beautiful,
A life of no divinity she had, but one that was fruitful,
Now I know not to fear her presence, as I've met her,
I want to talk with you again. I want to be a chancer.