Never does she rest on the bold base in bare,
For the delicate paintings drape her ever so rare.
When every mortal awes at her beauty of solitude,
With her finial she smiles in a shy of gratitude.
Sweet fresh waters stream on the path well known,
Echoing her grace in a beauty of its own.
With her sculptured details she educates the nature,
And with her arches she stretches herself beyond splendor.
At the touch of dusk with the skies thus misty,
She gives in to the color of purity.
Can ever a creation stand in such wonder?
An answer for which even the creator might ponder.