She.

She,
Maybe the face I can't forget,
The trace of pleasure or regret,
Maybe my treasure or the price I have to pay.

She,
Maybe the song that summer sings,
Maybe the chill that autumn brings,
Maybe a hundred different things,
Within a measure of a day.

She,
Maybe the beauty or the beast,
Maybe the femine or the feast,
May turn each day into a heaven or a hell.

She,
Maybe the mirror of my dreams,
The smile reflected in a stream,
She may not be what she may seem,
Inside her shell.

She,
Who always seen so happy in a crowd,
Whos eyes can be so private and so proud,
No one's allowed to see them when they cry.

She, maybe the love that cannot hope to last,
May come to me from shadows from the past,
That I'll remember till the day I die,

She,
Maybe the reason I survive,
The why and wherefore I'm alive,
The one I'll care for through the rough in ready years.

Me,
I'll take her laughter and her tears,
And turn them all my souvenirs,
For where she goes I've got to be,
The meaning of my life is,
She.