Delicate little hands

She sighed, such a soft breathe

As if her exhale were the gentle cry of angel

A sorrowful smile stared obverse me 

Even her tears, comparable to the sun

Her delicate little hands frail and cold

Yet the most beautiful things on Earth

As if God created them with light and love and snow

A single dove; white and pure, illuminating that dark before the sunrise

Like a single hope, a belief in beauty, faith in the savior

My savior,

My guardian,

My white rose,

Does she love me? It matters not

She is a beacon for the lost sailor, unable to find home;

Proof that stars still shine

To explain her would be unattainable;

Perhaps God spoke to the devil

Proving his humble, begging for peace

And for a moment, evil relented

Creating delicate little hands