Showered under obligatory wishes,
You stand testament of planets' aligned,
Twenty four seven made you so fine,
Spellbinding lovers pleading more time.
Men come bringing heaven,
But an Angel you already are,
Having your World all forgiven,
Become a Goddess of beings by far.
How little it means then,
When a wish to you I scribe,
Will you love or will you lie,
To this poor ol'soul of mine.