Beauty is in the keen eyes that behold
Never in the high mountains tinged with gold
Clouds that can swirl in any form or shape
Or forest greens that can cover and drape
Beauty is neither defined nor stated
No norms to fit but born to be fated
Like some weird constant in a formula
But is not missed if one has scrofula
Beauty is in actions and reactions
Soft melodious voice and inflections
A mere flutter of eyes, a winsome smile
Coy shake of the head goes a lengthy mile
Beauty is what makes your dullest day great
A few choicest words put springs in your gait
Beauty is there to be seen, discovered
To be unravelled by or recovered
Beauty is a lasting source of delight
Of joy, happiness and unbridled flight
Soaring in the sky of limitless love
Like an infinitely pure and white dove
mbfarookh
There's nothing quite so graceful as a flying pig. Swooping over lands and seas. Saying hello to birds on the way. No pecking though. Just oinking. Occasionally octagonal birds can speak the dialect of oink. As avocados sleep quite peacefully below with the buffalo on the plains. From high up above it can be ascertained that the tents can be seen. Magnified by an inner eye. And located by snout smelling capabilities. Little furry bundles of mice and shrews wave pink flags as the trotters pass. Oh how marvellously enchanting it all is. Say hi to big bird for me you squirrel there in that tree. Languages linguistically leaning learning. And landing not prohibited in a cart or an abattoir. So apples must rise to be consumed. Hahahaha oink multiplication table hahahaha divisions of a quagmire of troublesome clouds. Xxxx sus scrofula domestica suide z