I stoop in the shadow of your majesty
I dare not look at your intelligent eyes
Humbled by your artistic magnifigace
Did it hurt when you fell from the skys

My words are not worthy of your attention
My thoughts, nothing compares to yours
I struggle with bad poetry retention
My script builds walls, yours opens doors

I feel ashamed to have wasted your time
When you could have been creating art
Ashamed of my immature style and rhyme
You exquisite perfume, I a stale old ****.