So far above is she,
Strewn in a chair in a chaotic workspace,
Stricken from my reach by a sheet of glass.

Can she even see me?
Penning notes and sheets of music apace,
As days and weeks, too fast, pass.

I long to know her,
I long to be her,
I long to stand by her side,
I long to become her bride.

But alas.
This art is meant for someone else.