She is more than a bundle of perfections
With a seed of immense purity deeply sown
Her mystic blue eyes are full of questions,
Answers to which are in the far unknown
Alone she stands pondering in the deserted glen
Pulling her ear, swaying the fancy dangler
The round nose she shrinks every now and then
Looks pressed under her ferocious anger
Her lovely locks tied with little clips
Withstanding the wind as it fiercely blows
A little smile sat on her delicate pink lips
Hiding a tornado of misery, who knows?
Reblogged this on John Cowgill's Literature Site.
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🙂
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🙂🙂🙂
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Then why is she shy of showing her face? The tornado has turned her face away from us?
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she does not have a defined face…she’s you, she’s me…she’s everyone!
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So, it is difficult to fathom the poet’s mind.
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I know!
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Beautiful. I love it.
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Thank you 🙂
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Relatable
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I am glad to know that 😊
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😀
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Great words and wonderful photo! Thanks.
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Thank you so much for the lovely feedback 😊
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