I craft a woman with a lace

I craft a woman with a lace
to fill my empty bowl,
just to retrieve the lively grace
where I had swear my vow.

Thus I had then traced her features
and formed an imagery,
and found comfort through live picture,
young at age; pure as she.

I seek her smile and purity,
her innocence as well,
this one I'd met in destiny,
lovely and so noble.

But then, at least, just for a while;
for she's not she and she's
herself, not the one so fragile,
and so I trudged amiss.

No daffodils nor lavenders
could trace the charm of her,
neither daisies nor a pecker
could resemble her lure.

So I lament the lost of bond,
may she come back, I pray.
For now I live in moribund
in which I live as prey.