Sunday, 15 January 2012


When I post a poem for her to praise her beauty,
One deep sigh comes from my morrow,
Single she is in her dominance borrow,
Round the eyes’ vision she is someone narrow
To make heroine presence in my love, as she tides low,
Life is hers, not of my preserve, then windy wink.

Her declaration is not at my grace,
As she moves many words like a game,
Like a dramatist’s purse occurs wonder,
On the last stage scene of act and tact,
Like some mastery is there in her loving art.
She is for many origins of posing and sensing.

I look at her all beauty, lovely thing,
Every moment, every day, I look at her delight,
That she gathers from her life struggle,
As I know her a very strong is her will
And all things of her I do praise, in love,
And I discover she is lover of all who loved earlier. 

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