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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=413209" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>She</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">She never left the comfortableness of forty plus<br>Although her look is progressing to the point of collapse<br>Sometimes she may be seen in a dark cafe or flickering bars<br>Legs crossed; top buttons loose to announce the world her love scars</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some men of the past; some more than few<br>Knew her under better skies hue<br>To call themselves the noble term husband<br>But they all disappeared the relationships did not stand</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Especially to one lover she is gone, the cruel fair; <br>For him she cast not back a look of pitying eye: <br>But left her lover to sink in desolate despair<br>To sigh, to languish, like a flower to wilt and to die: <br>Ah! how can those fair eyes endure<br>To give the wounds they will not cure? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">To him she was the great Goddess of love that made<br>A face that can all hearts control and command<br>That all religions and cultures can invade<br>And easily change and reverse every law of the land<br>Where has such power been placed before<br>She should have mercy on him the more</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now lonely and lovely she is strolling in the market place<br>Carrying a basket of fashion to emphasize her waning grace<br>And still she steals whistles and shrieks from creatures standing by<br>Which she absorb in hidden content and with victorious sigh</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Upon her head she wares a hat with a modest wreath<br>From whence her veil reaches to the side walk beneath<br>No one can tell her veil is artificial flowers or genuine leaves<br>Whose craftsmen either way left all beguiled by a total deceive</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Many will praise the sweet smell as she passes<br>Is it her natural scent, a perfume, or her breath she casts <br>A kind of smell that the honey bee seek in vain<br>They would pursue it in high winds and tumultuous rain</div><div style="margin:10px 0">About her chest hangs chain of crafted pebblestone<br>which is lightened by her neck like diamonds are shone<br>She never wares gloves, for neither sun nor wind<br>would burn or parch such skin on hands that make birds sing</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What is her substance, from which she is made<br>that millions of strange shadow hues on her tend <br>Since everyone reflects one and only one shade<br>But she? She can every shadow of the rainbow lend</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There are those who were lucky to observe her from close<br>To see a beauty beauteous framed in web of winkles and lines<br>As if by now is spared and skipped by years and by time<br>This beauty is preserved as in a book rests an eternal rose<br> </div><div style="margin:10px 0">   Copy rights 2010<br>   All rights reserved</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Isaac+Ziv">Isaac Ziv</a><div class=q>
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Although her look is progressing to the point of collapse
Sometimes she may be seen in a dark cafe or flickering bars
Legs crossed; top buttons loose to announce the world her love scars

Some men o..."></div>
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