This baby I bestow thee,
She will be your saving grace.
From all the deity she is yours,
Such a special gift is a rarity.
Her eyes will shine like blue fusion,
Flaring for archetypes of man-kind.
Her fingers are small, however,
They can reach your mind.
She will not know of these gifts,
She will not know her origin.
It is your job to guide her,
Bestow upon her your saving grace.
A Millenia from her death,
Might just be another.
But even with those years and time,
Could not possibly produce one as she.
