My Angel When I stroll into her eyes, I'd like to see angelic brow and lid; For in her eyes, mystery lies: A mystery I think I need. And shall I say that when she's in tears, I'd like to place a cup ‘neath her eyes? Maybe to drink them; for over the years, My Angel's tears remain 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 remains an Angel of Angels; For every of her handshakes are tender And her every smile is ever charming as nightingales’. Ought not I to always be her defender? I'll treat her not preferentially, but specially; For my Angel was created for me exceptionally.