Angels

When I stroll into her eyes, I'd like to see angelic brow and lid; For in her eyes, mysteries lies: The mysteries I think I need. And shall I say that when she's in tears, I'd like to place a cup beneath her eyes? Maybe to drink them; for over the years, My Angel's tears remains a Juicy dice. Too sweet were they to roll her cheeks for nothing; For absolutely nothing about her is useless. Of all the Angels I see, for something, She excels them all. Nonetheless, She remain an Angel of Angels; For every of her handshakes are tender And every of her smile is ever charming as nightingale's. Ought not I to always be her defender? I'll treat her not preferentially, but specially; For my Angel was created for me exceptionally.