Anonymous Americas

My Love In Her Attire

My Loue in her Attyre doth shew her witt,
It doth so well become her:
For eu'ry season she hath dressings fitt,
For Winter, Spring, and Summer.
No Beautie shee doth misse,
When all her Robes are on:
But Beauties selfe shee is,
When all her Robes are gone.

Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004

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Read poems about / on: winter, summer, spring