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Was I to tell the truth about her eyes,
The world would say that this poet, lies
Was I to write songs of how focused her breast stand,
She would blush I understand.

To men were I to asses her smiles,
Not so much would my thoughts go miles
For to them I’d say they are cryptic as the hieroglyphic,
I’d say to them it be mystic as mythic.

Still to them I’d say what else in the realms of art or nature
Be true of it’s harmony than this creature?
For none of painters, dead or yet to be
In her exact likeness paint this beauty.

She’s such a woman untamed as the sea,
So brave a creature as I see,
Such a beauty unmatched she is
O thoughts what else more say thee?

“One night cold, the heart was dying
But for the hands of her warm kiss it lived
One night cold, the soul froze
But for the fires of her lips well it arose.”

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