You.

Those stars,

All bright

Beneath the sky.

The sickle-shaped

Moon, shining

Up nigh,

Are no match

For your infinite

Smile, wider

Than the sickle,

Brighter

Than the little

Spots up high. 

Those swirls

On a spring,

Spiralling out.

The waves

Sparkling, at

The river's mouth,

Are no match

For the depth

Of your eyes

Shading 

The sorrowed,

Mirroring

The sunrise.

Those heavens,

Abodes 

Of powers divine.

The paths

Through lands

With blossoms fine,

Are no match

For you, 

Your heart,

Vast as this

World,

Soothing as the

Harp.