Her beauty was too great for words to bear,
For of that vision never stood a peer;
What thought the common who would stop to stare
At that sweet raptured spirit floating near;
Porcelain visage hued of clouds above,
Arresting eyes of pure cerulean blue,
A voice as gentle as a lulling dove –
By scribed compare, an angel’s billet-doux.
What prompted gods to give her robes divine
While others oft are clad in common tweed?
Why is one floret blessed by bloom sublime
While others share the cast of common weed?
What place be ours to question heaven’s grace …
While stopped to scan the wonders of that face.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.