Her soul was rich and deep, vibrant and true. An amber gold, like honey dripping off the spoon, or amber itself, within which life a million years past may reside.

Her soul was a summer sunset, catching all in its beams, fading, albeit sure to return; hard to look at directly, yet there were none who knew her and did not feel warm.

Her soul was autumn leaves carried away on a breeze, swirling about a space--beautiful, yes, but fallen too. Fallen, and perhaps a little dead, wont to be trod underfoot by those who do not pay proper care and attention.

Her soul was cider and tea, whiskey and beer. With her I was comforted, with her I was energized; I felt giddy too, in her embrace; and whenever beside her, I felt content.

Her soul was a golden mirror, upon which all are cast in a favorable light.

Her soul was a warm meal after a long days work, lit by the glow of candlelight.

Her soul was amber, and her soul was kind.