She does her little dance
in the mornings before sunlight
I watched from up in the loft and smile
She never knows, I am out of sight.

There's this thing called love
She embodies that in her being
Always thoughtful, always loving
Always giving, always yielding

I silently wait for the locks to turn
Upon which she enters the place called home
Weary and drained out of her senses
Not like the life she once loved and owned

When she lays to down at night
That glaze of her eyes before she sleeps
Her sweet scent lingers on and on
The rousing and restlessness that she keeps

The way her face glows when she smiles
The way she sounds as she comes alive
Her laugh as I pulled her close to me
The way she walks, but her heart I failed to keep