I'll not show you the rosy picture
of that village girl dressed in muslin;
and in whose fabric of subtle thought
this adobe of a dream by night,
that by love of no compare,
let beauty alone be the judge
against all else ere thine eye:
nothing in the world shall find,
nor no witness, too, be worthy of thy perusal,
of her majestic walk through the gate,
along Erin's rustic feet in rhyme,
blessed with the star her song.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2013.
All Rights Reserved.
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