She is

[arbitraryarmor]

She is the sanctity of the dark,
The mirth of the rain
She is the safety of the hearth
The cure to my pain
She is the stillness of my heart
The solace to my strain
She is the defender of my peace
The silence of my domain
She is the protector of the unloved
Of life and death in twain
Her benevolence is matched by none
And for her love i pray
Yes, she's a work of art
And she brings light when all is gray
I would take a minute with her
Over any other day.

Old version:

She is the sanctity of the dark,
the mirth of the rain,
is the safety of the hearth,
the cure to my pain.
She is the stillness of my heart,
the solace to my strain,
is the defender of my peace,
the silence of my domain.
She is the protector of the unloved,
of life and death in twain.
Her benevolence is matched by none
and for her love I pray.
Yes, she's a work of art,
and to her love I'm chained;
but you can't spell painting
without spelling pain.