The Beauty Of A Woman Never Dies, It's On The Inside. It Cannot be Touched Broken Nor Cursed.
I met her in the colorful spring of the year when the winter was past and the rains were over. Flowers finely freely the face of the earth. And the fig trees formed her first fruits.In this defining moment she was conceived
I got consumed by her paragon of virtue and radiance. Many waters could not quench my love. She was a rose of Sharon, Pride of Barbados
Dark she was yet lovely but she never prided herself in her majestic beauty. Then autumn came, the flowers began fading its bright colors, It's blossom fragrance spreads no more, Her skin turned pale darkened by the unkind sun, o she was beautifully betrayed by her bosoms. I ignored her loving her from far
I was I to know, that the beauty of any tree flower is rooted in its roots. Little did I know that what is dead may never die again. But only gets stronger and harder That no matter how much of the sun is tapped and the oxygen inhaled,It's genesis knows no revelation
It would spring yet again, for the flowing waters streaming from Lebanon would water my flower ,and it's fragrance would spread across
How delighted is my unquenched love.
