Sunday, April 3, 2011

April 3rd, a Sonnet

When she walked into the room,
The cripple leapt, content, within,
A pleasant flower; a rose in bloom,
Beauty has she from hair to chin.
Her movements are lovely,
Her expressions are fair.
Her manner is dainty,
And most wonderfully rare.
When she spoke, my lips did listen,
And they composed an effortless smile.
Her words shined and gently glistened,
I think I will stay for quite a while.
In all my thoughts thought so glumly,
From her, a flash of bright and comely.

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