Happiness is a butterfly,
Harlequin and divine.
Such too was the gaze in her eye,
Without distortion, immaculate in design.
Her countenance was sculpted from gold,
And radiant magic hidden in every fold.
Her face dazzled as the sun shone,
As she set a heavenly undertone.
Beyond the glimpse was something of a different craft,
Often missed by the onlookers so daft.
Forged from the countless thorns she broke on her way,
Mercurial in nature changing with every beast she'd slay.
Yet her words are sweet, simple and most kind,
Her presence a butterfly in springtime.
The elegance of her wings,
Matched by the Comfort and joy she brings.
She is the spring to my winter,
thawing what was frozen to its core.
The one to ignite the cinder,
The one hauling me ashore.
