By JH Sayyar
Her grace outshines the silver-candled moon,
A whisper soft upon the winds of May,
With eyes that steal the brilliance of noon
And lips where sleeping roses blush to stay
Her voice, a melody the stars might weave,
Falls on the soul like gentle April rain;
In every glance, a thousand hearts believe
That heaven walks this earth in mortal frame.
Yet beauty’s crown is not in form alone—
It dwells within her kindness, strong and true;
A light that through the dark storms has shone
A fire that warms the hearts of all she knew.
O Beauty, not in face but also soul refined,
The fairest woman is the love noblest mind.
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