Mere words cannot describe her gentle grace;
So, compensating, strive to build a shrine
Where worshipers may go to offer praise
And feast upon her beauty most divine.
In fervent prayer they call upon her name
And wait for some small sign of her sweet love.
A lock of hair would satisfy the flame,
Or even a slight nod would be enough.
But she is not expected to reply
Since of this shrine she does not even know.
For this poor poet is regrettably too shy
His humble edifice for her to show.
And so she is like some bright distant star
Who only can be worshiped from afar.
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