Beauty defines itself like such great art,
All eyes drawn to its composure and grace,
A sculpture or painting so pure of heart,
Almost eases the time I long for your face.
To look back at mine so dearly and true,
With warm yellow eyes refreshing my mind,
Of all the cares I held strongly for you,
Oh and how that it is, you’re so rare a find.
Aligned borders hold thick paint to canvas,
Yet her beauty exceeds all obstacles.
Not one detail from time is easy to miss,
Makes me recall, that perfect is possible.
So to thee a comparison would be a shame,
For art is restricted to its own place and fame.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem