Your glowing smile, like children laughing,
radiates like fire through frigid spells,
your own merriment enriches,
its appeal like distant bells.
Your auburn hair, like gossamer,
distilled by zephyrs' gentle beat,
rejoices on your shoulders like
the errant play of summer wheat.
Your jaunty gait, while others wait
to follow, as their lot must be,
will overtake those in your wake
with joyfulness and joie de vivre!
Though woes may darken your bright eyes,
decelerate your sprightly pace,
you ne'er will mention your despair,
and that, my love, is grace.