Maria De Medeiros
Her presence vale of privy
Amid mere, less gentle eve
A summer lost, arid supple, a longing
Among a velvet morning mistarl breeze
Deprival chills left within perfume, a wakes
Atmospheres sheerly in le nude
This once Paris blushing without her gaiety
Brighter skies chaperone through bluer halo moons
Smiles spot lights upon her rose touched cheeks
And above, neon signs sparkle a twist of limelight into her eyes
This modern day avant-gardeMona Lisa
With sun-baked tresses that ample free out of celebrated life
The avenues of simper, spirited laughter ways
A-maze-ingly swathe the narrow streets in guise
Angel Maria de Medeiros, you have won my heart
But, France 'tis you, who has won the sweetest prize
Copyright © Michael Smith | Year Posted 2012
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