Thursday, December 25, 2014


Dappled in purple shade of her gown
She walks down the little town
Gracefully yet with admiration;
Flowers in the garden and
Blades of grass in the field dance to her steps,
Waving in the zephyr that blows
The locks of her hair;
Juvenile blood rushes in veins
Stares at her arched waist going deep down
Hiding all its treasures,
Promises a man all its pleasures in proximity
That remains a curiosity;
For a moment she stops—
Standing there she looks at someone
Must be the blessed one
A smile flashes with no reason
Greets life in all its seasons
Flames of passion bubbling in the hearts
Interrupts time to pass
A smile that she flaunts
Makes the barbet in the branch to taunt
She looks above the tree
Sees the bird to flee

And walks down slowly.
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