A Requiem.

Being a lass she was the synonymous to pretty, i tell you this as i could see, the more pensive she stayed, the more glint of verve you could observe I must have said.
Compassionate, gentle and humane can be called those which tried to define her but ended up in misery as what she possessed was an unselfish of all, a heart of gold.
In this and that, she was in everything I must have said, serene she was for the things and tried to craft me the same of a kind, eloquently she read the poems of Keats and there was me listening silently in my seat, not the poem of course her voice was glacé to me.
Flowers she painted over the wall, this painting is the requiem for me and won't leave me alone, but now she's gone but shall live in my poem until doom's dawn.