Her conception
took seven years,
it was miraculous
and beautiful,
In the ninth month
brought to bed
what a beauty
Fifteen years later,
she exhibited the features
of a young beautiful
rose flower,
a glowing skin,
eyes that could
hypnotise and physique
that was contagious
Another decade and a half,
her beauty consolidated,
the steam from a locomotive
was no match for that
which came from her beauty,
the most eloquent scrambled
for words to depict her
and the least eloquent
found words as the
passion from her beauty
unleashed them,
so was the strength of her beauty
that the rose flower became envious
at seventy and still counting,
sited quietly,
she looks back,
reminiscing about her early years
and said gently with her frail voice,
Indeed, beauty does wither.
