An edited version of 'Amy' (2005-10-17)
Amy.
Her smile bright;
neighbouring the sun
that passes the due mountains.
Melting frost with her touch,
blinding in the glistening streams.
Her cream hair;
sway past Gogh-painted clouds –
oh so white.
Blunt blades of grass
dance in her eyes,
Reflecting the fields of purity.
Her skin;
soothed with a butter-knife,
fashionable in every extent
except in match for the personality,
portrayed within her words.
Her tears;
corresponding with every colour,
the silver lining by her rose-orange cheeks.
Lashes flicked like the tip of a pouncing flame,
beautiful in every aspect,
beautiful; how she chooses her path.
Poetry by John Ashleigh
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Written on 2013-10-18 at 17:32
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