Some splash in paint that which I scribe in ink,
Your essence rendered thus: Oh, face so fair!
Should there an eye to gaze or brain to think
Be more or less to claim love’s sweet compare?
Though each to each ensconces what is seen,
Beseeching thus each heart for wondrous praise:
The soul alone decides which art more keen,
Smile captured in mink strokes or cursive phrase.
The eye is but the window to the soul
And words or hues, however there arranged
Engender in the mind a grand tableau—
So neither show by pen or brush estranged.
To me ‘tis clear, your beauty transcends art;
All tributes fail, and so sets you apart.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.