The face of Nephritides can’t compare
Nor Shakespeare’s sonnets can with words describe
The perfect beauty framed inside your hair
That grips my eyes and makes me feel alive.

If Shakespeare’s sonnet numbered one-o-six
Could be rewritten on this very day,
The Master poet would desire its fix
To match your beauty in a better way.

You touch the strand of hair before your face,
And with your laugh you split my lips in two,
My eyes, my mind, my heart begins to race
Without request I give my soul to you.

I hope to share with you and endless while,
Because your very presence makes me smile.


J. Abram Barneck.
Copyright © 2004 by Rhyous, Inc.  All rights reserved.
Revised: 08 Feb 2004 22:25:18 -0700.

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