Priyanshi Mehta Blogs

Priyanshi Mehta Blogs

Ravishing You

Priyanshi Mehta
03, Jun 2021

As I walk by in that field of roses,

I spot thee, a rose thyself

Hath a rose that much strength for the toil

Thou doth? I see thy ripened bosom,

Among the flowers blossom

I see thy crimson lips,

And thy curved hips

From the toil, thou art worn,

Thy hands; cut and torn,

As the blossoms dance in the air;

So doth your golden, wavy hair

Just like the petals of the roses soft;

Art thy cheeks, white like frost

Thy ugly rags embody

Thy gracious body

As my eyes fall upon thee,

I doth not keep sane

Thy sight yet givest me

The balm to this pain

Thou to my heart art the dove

Is this what they call to be in love?

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