Her Portrait

I won’t paint her picture with water as ink
Nor will I carve her beauties inside a wall
For waters last a minute and then sink
And carvings get scared how I bear it all.

Shall I make her portrait with realistic hue
Or chisel her sculpture with complete cares
No,  it construes not for hues remain not new
And all sculptures are subjected to wears.

Let I portray her picture in my line so stout
And bestow her beauties an eternal tone
So never and none could her beauties blank out
And everyday her ravages postpone.

A wanton flower in vernal vales
Scent to rose is freshness of her breath
And she’s fancy of my imaginary tales
To laud her fans rise from death.

To bid her welcome Nature dresses so green
And sparrows chant her songs so sweet
In yonder vales her beauties are seen
And I feel her presence in every tweet.