Below is the poem entitled Rose Coloured Portrait which was written by poet
Zerbst. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.
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(This is about the same lovely young lady and best friend that I wrote about in "A Pink Rose." I always think about her when I think about roses. Especially pink and lavender ones.)
The very first thing I noticed was her smile.
It brightened up my day from where she stood
Across the lawn with her friends.
She was about eleven, and I was too.
I was struck by how pretty she was,
Especially in the gentle but bright sun.
Her hair was dark brown and naturally wavy.
She had it braided in thick pigtails
That hung halfway down her back.
I listened as she talked with her friends,
Savouring the sound of her voice.
Neither high nor low, it was pleasantly sweet,
Reminding me of a gently flowing stream on a summer day.
And when she giggled with the other girls,
that was heavenly.
An angel couldn't sound so lovely.
She was dressed simply in a denim jumper
And a white short-sleeved blouse
Which lavender flowers embroidered on it.
She must like blue.
She wore no make-up or jewelry,
And I can honestly say she needed none.
She possessed a charming aura of youthful exuberance.
Her skin was white, which just a hint of a golden tan.
Her face slightly broad and oval shaped;
Rather stronger and more squareish than most girls'.
Her nose was small and short, giving her even more youthful charm.
Her naturally red lips curved slightly upwards at the corners,
So that she always appeared to be half smiling at something amusing.
She bore herself with maturity and a graceful carriage,
But she was too carefree and happy to seem stuck-up or condescending.
Her build was sturdy and rather boyish, slightly stockier than her friends'.
She was tall for her age.
If I had not overheard her age,
I would have thought she was two or three years older.
Catching a glimpse of her eyes, I saw they were a deep blue;
The kind a fella could get lost in.
She turned her head away toward another of her friends,
So I noticed she was standing in the grass barefoot.
Her feet were wider than most girls',
but still small and feminine-looking, just like her hands.
Speaking of her hands, they looked creamy and soft,
I wondered what they would feel like in my broad calloused paws.
Probably fragile, but they weren't.
I finally mustered up the courage to walk over and say hello.
She greeted me with that dazzling smile,
And we have been best friends for years now.
She is the girl I most admire, and maybe I love her too.
Not just any kind of love, the kind that only comes once in a lifetime.