I like poems to rhyme so, taking a great liberty for which I hope I may be forgiven, I rewrote your creation.
I could ask myself "Why is she perfect?"
A million times for a thousand seasons
And the question remain unanswered
No rhymes and no reasons
But that all changed when I asked you your name,
"Angel," you said, and though the answer seems plain
It was the simple, true answer to my never-ending question
You are my Angel and nothing is ever the same
Yeah, the rhymes are imperfect & the pattern all over the place but I felt constrained to follow the original theme.