HER

She was beautiful,
a figurine.
Intricate and elegant.
A piece of hand written music,
play her on a harp,
maybe a harpsichord.
She is a perfect poem .
written by a perfect gentleman,
to the lady of his dreams.
She is the silver,
in the poor man's purse.
The honey to the bee,
The mead to lace the drinker's jar.
She is a perfect kiss to share,
as the sky plays a part in getting dark.
She is a crystal that carries a spark.
She opens the eyes of the man who is wise.
She is the lady who carried the chalice,
Unto the crusade,
in which many men died.
She is the one,
who made many men cry.
She is the one,
the only one,
the one great man,
he made her cry.
And to this day she's still crying inside.
(c) Livvi