The stars of the vasty constellations reflect in her pearl-jeweled eyes, so wondrous her eyes. It is the hour of the romance of the August eventide, the saints are whispering in their night vespers. Her muse slumbers in a gown of velveteen dreams, yet, her moonlight-blessed creativity is such beauteous lyrical ecstacy born from her quintessence. Her gifts of poetry bid me to breathe them in with their melodies of stardust. No, she is not mortal, if I were a man, I would walk with her hand in mine so joyously. The blithesome moon desires to stay, as her eternal face of ageless lover's inspiration will not leave her timeless poetess. She reclines on cumulus clouds of evefall pink and lavender, that billow so gently from her airy breath. Rise, dear Susan, and write more the enchantment of your words and verse, penning of angels and pure love's bliss, til God's gilded dawn. ~ This is a tribute poem to Susan A.