Her
There was beauty in her soul,
A bonding in her eyes,
An aura I was helpless to define,
The dream that drifts away as the dawn breaks every day,
So subtle like the vapours of the wine.
Such lips might blaze for passion,
And eyes embrace the soul,
Her bearing was her favour and her grace,
Could the answer be in me, that I alone could see,
What others never saw within her face.
Perhaps it was her inner peace,
That she not earthly be?
Her soul might never know a mortal flame,
Divine, she was mystique whom the gods alone could seek,
No man alive would tame this hurricane.
Michael Walsh Poetry: http://goo.gl/RPjs3f
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