You

who walks in grace
flashes the smile
the covert glance
from knowing eyes

who knows me not
but knows me all

You

who have pinned me
under glass
in a frame
a collected butterfly
with hidden colors
for your eyes only

You

have no need to flaunt
you move in rarefied air
but not over proudly
to speak to you is to speak to the earth
you are an attainable treasure
from the box of Pandora
born of the genus angelic.