The Lady who wears her Beauty,
It doesnt matter what she wears,
Its the way she wears it,

That has Starry gazes,
Drift like Wanderlust butterflies,
To the Garden of her Beauty,

Where they are Kissed,
By the Shimmers,
of her Compassion,
More rare than her gowns,
Their Stillness like candles,
Blessed by the Sway of her hem,
More Sensuous than roses,
Caressed by her Exquisite coolness,
More unique than diamonds,
And Smitten by the warmth of her Love,
More Sublime than doves,

The Lady who wears her Beauty,
Like the Midnight skies,
Wears,
Our Moon
Reynaldo Casison