No Words

She is as the unspoiled flower,

Untouched beauty; perfect and natural,

Every petal sitting gracefully in place.

But still the flower does not compare.

 

 

She is as an Angel, who has forsaken,

The kingdom in the sky,

To taunt the faint hearts,

Of men with her beauty.

Yet too the angle does pale,

For she is far too glorious.

 

 

No words can be said to describe her,

And thus the poets weep.

No oil can preserve her,

So the painter doth despair.

No tune could hope to match her,

And so the musician is forlorn.

 

 

Any attempt to recreate her,

Would be but a slight.

She is too graceful,

Too beautiful,

Too fair.

 

 

And so all artists do not despair,

Yes, she is too perfect for compare.

Yet complain thee not, but take thanks,

That yee may set your eyes upon her.

 

Reviews

[Noah]

Well put together. Flows nicely. A great write.