Mira Poem by John Reon

Shall I tell you of a woman I saw?

Her beauty is so rare, more than any earthly ornamented core.

Shall I tell you of a beauty so bold and loud?

A prodigy so esteemed, in and out of any crowd.

Shall I tell you of a woman, every woman envy?

A moral countenance they often wish to see?

They say she doesn't want to walk like a cat tripping.

But every time she passes by, it is as if the earth sway with her in delightful weeping.

They say, not her single hair peeped from her head.

But every time she passes by, it's as if her maker replaces it with perfection on her forehead.

They say she covered up her entire body.

But every time she passes by, it is as if she is naked, telling everyone of her chastity.

One day they say she smiled while passing by.

They wind joyously showered bliss, boasting that she looked her in the eye.

The ground silenced every passing sound.

Bluffing that, direct in its face the smile rebound.

They say whenever she smiles all nature lodgings rejoices.

She's Mira, and she's taught me a lesson.