Sweet lady fair, with golden hair
and verse to quench my thirst.
Cerulean skies adorn blue eyes,
void quill be not your curse.

Onto an instance, without resistance,
each word goes not unheard.
Through dark of night or shining light,
penned lines remain superb.

I ne'er to find one so sublime,
who foresees the tales she weaves.
Your spell be cast with those who fast,
on all that you conceive.

Dear bard and friend, until the end,
your poems are my retreat.
I'll dine with heart on every part
and taste a banquet feast.