My Angel

When I stroll into her eyes,
I'd like to see an 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 remained 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 handshake is 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.