She
Ujjal Mandal, India
On a spring morning the sweet
smell of newly clad blossoms
coated with dew and honey,
I saw a maiden tugging
a ivory comb through her long
and smooth tresses
beneath a tree;
I approached to her.
Oh, she was more florescent than the moon
of the night,
Flowers stoop to her beauty,
such beauty I never have seen nor
I felt before,
I agree to gobble up the poison
of her charm and daintiness.
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