EchizenGita

He, in-front of the brook’s placid reflections, sat- for hours and hours. Wondering, musing about what made his best part Was it his nose? Was it his mouth? His chin perhaps? The pair of dark coals that were his eyes? Each feature, viewed distinctly, was a masterpiece Overwhelmed, the bearer stood. He search’d and search’d For blemishes and faults, Though he found none, it would not have mattered if he found one still. He was acceptable, He was beautiful. He sat some more, soaking in the symphony and stared and stared and stared. The light of day bedimmed to dusk, The stars peeped out with their fiery eyes, The serene nig