With each passing day, my heart begins to see,
A masterpiece unfolding, in quiet dignity.
Not framed in gilded gold, nor bound by time,
But etched in subtle strokes, her essence sublime.
She wears creativity like an effortless cloak,
Her hands shape wonders, her words softly spoke.
Artistry flows in her veins like a river’s song,
A melody of vision where colors belong.
Her soul, mature, like a timeless tree,
Rooted in wisdom, yet swaying free.
A lighthouse glowing through the tempest’s roar,
Guiding lost hearts to a calmer shore.
Every glance reveals another hue,
A tapestry rich, vibrant, and true.
Not one moment’s charm, but an endless bloom,
Each petal unfurls to dispel the gloom.
Her laughter, a spark that ignites the air,
An echo of joy so pure, so rare.
Her silence, too, holds a world unspoken,
A serene resolve, steadfast and unbroken.
In her presence, I see life anew,
A canvas painted in colors so true.
Each passing day draws me closer still,
To the wonder of her, against my will.
Though my words may never meet her eyes,
They hold the truth that my heart implies:
She is a hymn to all that is fine,
With each passing day, more divine.