The Blush Poem by mandara pookal

I don't know of its color
Looks like its not new
So deep its actual tenor
So light in varied hue

I don't know of its gentle spread
In ways that are quite new
So lilting and so finely wrought
It's wondrous with a cue

I don't know of its softened touch
A wisp of air that breathes
Unto the heart unto the soul
A quickened pulse that reels

I don't know of its tiled content
We often dont know how
The gale of hurried wishes true
Innate but wondering now

I dont know of its hard appeal
So right and roaring felt
Beneath the skin the feel that runs
It creeps when mind so melts

I don't quite know the feel divine
That runs within in stealth
But now I know that this blush is
The reason for true wealth