She carries a tender heart,
Warms the room with her smile, her soul—a dazzling art.
She frets over beauty marks,
While I see a masterpiece, sculpted perfect, no part to be retouched.
”We cannot part,” I whisper, holding her chart,
Guidance sought from above to play my part—
To shield her tender heart.
Yet, at times, I falter, her heart bears the scar.
No artist am I, grand enough to mend,
What divine hands crafted, perfectly penned.
More than an original—she’s a celestial blend.
For her, my rib, I’d gladly bend.
To craft from bone ivory keys,
To play her joy, her spirit to ease.
Or grind it to dust, if it might please,
For Him to heal, and our love to appease.