She belongs not in hands,
Not in books or pages,
But deep inside the heart.
Away from the tranquility,
Away from people,
Away from any watchful eyes.
She is too fragile, too soft,
For even a tender gaze can burn her.
For she's so beautiful, so pretty,
It feels illegal to watch her.
She's more than just a name,
More than a breathing soul.
Perhaps there isn't a word yet
That's suited to define her.