Would Shakespeare Approve
Her eyes, shine like the sun, soft as moonbeams,
Her smile far outweigh all the stars above,
Surrounding her is pureness held gently,
Like spun moss, silvery soft to the touch.
Not often a true beauty can be found,
She is wildflowers, a spring lake pure,
Surrounded by heaven and earth, calming,
To write of such as this, would fill pages.
This is music without sound or movement,
This is the dance longed for generations,
A melody never-ending such love.
She brings the goodness of spirit to task.
And yet, she does not know that I listen.
It matters not; this pleasure, I hold true.
This came via a challenge to write a sonnet.
First posted here: May 2018
For those reading, this is part of one
of two new challenges I've put up.