She, the Golden Shrine...

She, the golden shrine I worship at, bedecked in satin white and stainless; where windows torn by tearful rain, dried and gleamed transparent. Painless now my eyes, alighting doves becalming, track their paths and their descent depict their flight and feathered land upon her soft magnetic hands. Charming the birds down from the emerald wood, for primal nerves sense beauty reverential, singing songs of sky and cloud and lullabies of twilight fall. Sentimental fool I may well be, but grasp the truth of her utmost worth and sacred feeling, her chrysalis grains of mercy bloomed to butterflies of purest love. Stealing each glance and chance to be close to her, the love of all my life; she, the golden shrine I worship at; she, the golden shrine. My...