Beauty

I could say she’s very lovely
Her complexion as smooth as silk
There’s no doubt in its verity
but she’s of a different ilk.
No words can express her beauty
To try would be a futile whim
The words would be a blaspheme-
To parrot them would be a sin.
Frenchmen would say vous êtes beau
A hackneyed phrase she heard before;
Italians, siete bello
Same old phrase from a different shore.
The fact is, her” beauty is truth”-
An ephemeral time of youth.

poem by Albert Ahearn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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