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...
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