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Disclaimer: I don't own Angel, but I own this poem.
Author's Notes: This is from Angel's point of view about Buffy.
There is a maiden I know that my devotion communicates more then the words I formulate.
There is a maiden that I know that my sickness for communicates more then a deathly illness would.
There is a maiden I know that I love and that I hate.
To me she is the art of perfection, flawless, she can do no wickedness in my perception.
She is the maiden that I adore, the maiden that I want to seek the hand of, and the maiden I want to treasure everlastingly.
She is the art of imperfection, full of arachnids; she does no justice to be treated with my eyes.
Her physique is ludicrous, a bovine has superior contour then her, her cheeks are so colorless that a phantasm could not be whiter.
Her strands of hair? Pah! A Broom has a more appealing set of hair then she. A thorny vine is preferred to handle then those wires.
This same maiden is the maiden I adore, seek the hand of, and treasure everlastingly.
She is not far from perfect but she is not flawless; she can commit evil in my eyes.
She is no goddess in the form that she has, but it is still one to look for.
Her hair is not wire, but it is not picturesque, it has a color that is pretty to look at and longs for a touch.
She is the maiden that I love, abhor, and long for her to know how I feel.