She is the verse the heavens sing,  
Adorned in red, a royal thing,  
A vision cast in twilight's glow,  
Where only stars dare softly go.  

Her grace, a dance of whispered light,  
That turns the dark to purest white,  
In her eyes, the galaxies sleep,  
In her smile, the heavens weep.  

So fair, so bright, so unrefined,  
A beauty that both hearts and time confide—  
Yet here I stand, in awe I confess,  
Captive to her quiet, endless finesse.