She is the divinity;
     of her own supreme world.
     The translucent spot,
     on a porcelain that is old.

She is the aftermath.
     that followed a long day.
     The upshot of everything;
     gone along the way.

She above anyone;
     is the reason why I write.
     Tonight at this lonely;
     only helped by the moonlight.

She is the hope;
     of every heart that has ever loved.
     Brings fate to every end;
     the cause to what someone might have.

She who waits;
     patiently for her own Apollo.
     Will do whatever it takes;
     and meet him with her bow.

She who moves the nephelae;
     to every cover and pall.
     The ominous to my reality;
     was her blear and SHE.