A sonnet. 

A ray of light—what you claim to be your name,
embodying the warmth that April's summer brings,
your dazzling smile puts the sunlight to shame,
carrying with you the scent and colours of spring.

For you are the grass— a fresh, fluorescent green,
fretting over your stray yellowing weeds,
gentle as a feather, kind—you've always been,
riding the wind, you kiss the fallen leaves.

Like the magnificent rise of the sun; it has to set,
brightening up lives, you too can run out of your share,
once is enough, my child, none shall forget;
you melodic voice— it still rings in my ear.

My lovely Cherry, like you exists no other,
To find a muse, my words had to look no further.