Many a man
Nothing in idea
But eloquent in words
Has court and won
That perfect shape
And they are known
That perfect shape
Raises the lowly
And gives succor
To the lost
She is the most
To be desired
Above rupees or ruby
Above the mountains
Or the best position
She is a muse
To feel all night
A friend to laugh out with
A travelling companion
Through existence
Of uncertain outcome
She is a wiz
In making clay
To perfect replica
She is fragile
But her pain reach
Is beyond life
She has a curve
Full with circles
Soft part in roundness
Magical eyes with lashes
Full lips with red.
–
Her fondling tingles
With moaning glow
She is wisdom
In fifty greys
Her every touch
Is Midas in all
If you find her
Remember to remember
Her stay is soon mundane
Save yourself
From such curse
For if she is gone
So is everything she brings.
