Her Knight

Her smile slants ever towards the morning sun,
As her playful words taunt king and fool,
Her radiant beauty equal to none,
As she strikes a pose to Mona Lisa herself.

But her empty glass holds her daily sorrows,
Like the thirsty sands swallow the tides.
And quietly she sheds a lonely tear
In the solitude of her room.

Lady, your armored horseman rides
With the wind at his back through the nite,
So prepare ye a place in your heart for him,
for soon he will stand before you,  as I.