Her skin like berries ripe,
by Rohitash Chandra
with spots of few pimples
Flowers blossom in her smile
as her cheeks curl down into a dimple.
Her eyes are diamonds,
pearls are earrings
Lips O sweet lips— damp wine,
her shoulders rhyme with her hips.
She walks tall and daisies fall above all,
her dress folds while men’s eyes down her legs crawl
When her clothes soak in rain
—for a glimpse of her skin, men tumble and fall.
How perfect must god have been to carve?
her skin bone and flesh,
Of many creations men may love,
women’s beauty has god blessed.