Of a certain "Ms. T", of my acquaintance

Hello again, all.
Welcome to the 2nd installment of "people I know". As you may infer from the title, I have written this about someone I know. Mostly because I think you should know her too and this is about the best I can do for you, given our current limitations (I am here, you are there).
I put the following question before you - Who is this woman?! (or Man!, no...I am a kind fellow, I will tell you - it is a woman.)

Question open only to those living near me in Okinawa.
Okay, here I go:


Upon this sun drenched land of frothy shore,
I seek with grand Uriel to emplore.
For matters of penetration and sight,
In addition to our orb’d, hot light,
Are his to level and with justice mette --
And to this task no true gods dare I get.

Yet before I begin this noble task
From certain sources, forgiveness I ask.
Homer and Milton, to name a bare two,
I tell you this – on these worlds do not stew.
Remember mercy, that virtue most fine,
As well as good humor, oh muse divine.

Of this what would poets or muses say,
For of Ms. Tzarina they can but bray.
This woman most just: wise, kind, strong and fair
With dimpl’d cheeks beneath raven hair
Can not be guessed at by any wise mind
For who she is, she lets not others find.

This is the Question that prays on my thoughts:
Is there a “true” Tzarina to be sought?
By turns she has been so temperately mild
Then, in a flash, her bile gets riled.
Is it a chink in her heart or her mind,
Or is it me? an improperly shined
mirror.

I can think of days, cloudless and sunny,
Where she winks and she says something funny.
Days filled with quips and jests infantile
Days where her face is wreathed in a smile.

Then there are days of ill-temperate storm,
And moods of ill temper are all the norm.
Days filled with her pouts and lashing sharp tongue -
I, clueless to what I’ve cluelessly done.

And so too to this poem I wonder and fear
Whether it be hated? Whether held dear?
And if, as I guess, it her anger stirs
Surely no Fury has anger like hers.
I will scream to deaf ears, “Leave me alone!”
But, no doubt, she will reduce me to moans.

Grim catastrophe! There is no escape!
S’truth! I should not publish this stupid jape!
Failure! It’s my stupidity she hates!
Yet… there! Far off, I see a smile waits.
I will, I must, bear up; bear up and say,
“Ms. T, your bum smells like cheese. Have a good day.”

-D.C.