By JH Sayyar
Sharp as a star that cuts the velvet night,
Thy wit doth blaze with keen and clever gleam;
Each word a spark, each glance a shaft of light,
Thy mind more vivid than the boldest dream
No dull disguise can hide what dwells within,
A soul that dances with electric grace;
A smile half-sly, a knowing, secret grin—
Thou read the world as if it were thy place
Where others drift, thou chart a pointed course,
With angles drawn from thought and daring play;
No need for strength of limb, nor brutal force,
When sharpness is thy sword to win the day
O acute girl, whose brilliance none confute,
Thy sharpest edge remains thy heart—astute.
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