Upright and tall, among trees she was pine,
The temper of snow and fire in between,
Sweet and fragrant as rose has ever been,
And full-bodied like a red table wine
Savoured all thru dinner and far beyond,
Her cheeks ever showed a reddish white tinge,
Demeanour of a fulcrum and deep hinge,
Causing young dreams to dissipate in fond
Hope. But when I saw her in a decade,
The beauty of ere was less evident—
Her proud patent of past had sort of spilt;
Fains if she wert, I wondered, same sure maid
In no mood to condescend a consent,
Nor yet let a deserving wooing wilt.
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Sonnets | 01.11.08 |
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