That look you had on that Saturday
Saturday’s sun, caught your hair, it did gleam,
Not the usual tangle, but a straight stream.
A change, yet the same; eyes, warm and brown,
A different new, A still dream wanting to be around.
Lips like a poet might dream of rhyme,
A face that a painter can only dream to paint,
A laugh that can outshine the moon in its prime,
With beauty that shatters the earthly constraints.
A goddess descended, lighted by the saturday’s sunlight
But beauty like that, oh, never stays bright.
A goddess, by definition, forever out of reach.
An attractive dream, beyond even speech.
Beauty like that, oh, it never stays near,
A butterfly landing, then gone in a tear.
A goddess that belongs to the mountains so high,
And I, merely a pebble, beneath her vast sky.
A perfect image locked away,
Image of beauty, I can only pray.
And so I write in darkness, a tribute, a plea,
A rhyme for a goddess, who’ll never see me.
