She’s so beautiful that I want to stare at her every minute of the day. How do I explain such exquisiteness? Her eyes. The windows to her soul. They follow me. When I walk, sit, or just lay there. I wish to drown in their peaceful depths. Her nose, not too sharp or round, divides her face evenly. Her lips. I can’t speak of them without wanting to touch them. But I’m a gentleman, and her dignity is of utmost importance.
There must be a song or two about such luscious hair. They cascade over her shoulders, gathering in waves beneath her waist. Never have I seen a hair out of place. She covers herself in flowing fabrics. Her defined arms and toned legs hardly peeking out from the decent lengths. It’s remarkable to see such an old-fashioned girl.
Her hands are slender with rounded tips and shapely nails. She stands upon nimble toes, reaching for the sky. Doesn’t she know that her eyes reflect the sun, moon and stars? I’ve never had the courage to approach her. Not even an innocent wave. What if I offend her? How will I ever face her? Months have passed in this heart-wrenching dilemma.
It could be her quiet nature. She’s always alone. Maybe she has no one to speak to. The birds love her. They perch upon her hands and shoulders. She doesn’t mind. A perfect example of being one with nature.
I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to speak to her. My feet move fast, my heart beats faster. Will she be surprised?
I’m finally here. But where is she?
Instead, I find a young man in a cap, holding a bat and ball. What have they done? They’ve taken away my lovely lady. The beautiful, stone statue is gone.
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