Colours of the rainbow
Cascade from her every word and gesture,
As if she was an artifact of Mother Nature.

She's like a black canvas,
That no man dares taint.
For her crystal clear expression of life,
Is like miracles befalling the mortal realm.

She's got the touch of Midas
For everything she touches prospers and shines
Or maybe that's her heart of gold.

Her words are like paintbrushes,
Turning sadness and depression into artwork.