He moves slowly, cautiously, through worlds created by poets
Searching for words to paint the page. Oh, but to pen her is not easy
No, words, such simple words are not enough to paint her, yet he tries
He thinks of how she wafts across a reach
A dandelion seed in flight; A butterfly on the wing
Her hair cascades alike the flow of angel falls
Midnight, mystical, magical, as light then reflects the rosewood hue.
Her lips; full, soft and sensuous
What any man would not give if he could for one brief moment taste
Her eyes, green and deep and true, can mesmerize and captivate all
As they reveal the kindness of her spirit
He hopes, within the confines of mortal tongue
Somehow he's painted here an image
To describe this wonder of creation
This woman; This lady.
