Her

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There she is, wondrous and true
How the morning sun competes with her shine;
Bright as the day is young, warm, and welcoming:
Her voice softer than a pillow's head meet!
She walks in beauty and speaks as such,
To this I am weak, just as much
A siren's song, yet, enough is her touch.
 
Her presence bestowed is more than a gift to you.
She keeps on giving only bound by time;
The finest of wines most tasteful sans fling,
For her honor is best kept, no willing to cheat.
Tongues speak of her in terse and sometimes verse,
Upon departure, she's left you in the lurch
While hearts wrench and minds shatter, her cherub curse!
 
Gingerly she is, yet helpless in hiding her beauty;
Honeysuckle for the evening moths who ignore the flame,
Rekindling her flare for curious noses,
Vicarious colors opened for eyes to drop their sores.
Was this the face that launched a thousand ships?
More rather the commissioned smile upon wars dismissed;
A disarming charm, a surrender most mysterious.
 
Yes, her wit and pleasure becomes muse to a T.
Wild as a wildflower yet a wallflower all the same;
Hard to miss, unless blind, she deserves notice,
For the mirrors' sake, they fight to adore her!
Red filled passion clogs up her pores;
Silent blushes I imagine she bore
When she read aloud this once more.

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