Epitome of Beauty.
They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder
I told her that but still couldn’t hold her
The flowers hide in shame of her presence
She holds a certain elegance that lives in her essence
Her grace grows aglow each day,
From Monday’s dawn to Sunday’s twilight grey.
A piercing smile that illuminates the atmosphere
Her radiant skin, a canvas; brown hair, silken flair.
To call her fair wouldn’t be fair
She is beauty incarnate, no one can compare
She makes my heart skip three beats ahead
Indescribable flawlessness, no words left unsaid.
May a day arrive when I, in a tender way,
Hold her, an epitome of beauty, what more is there to say?
By C.K
Note: The first “fair” mentioned in line 9 has the archaic meaning of “beautiful” not “blonde”.
An attempt to mimick John Keats's imagery and rhyme.
