A true aesthete


I still recall the day I strolled
Past the house by the river,
When at my door curiosity called,
And took from my heart a sliver;
It was the finest garden I ever saw,
The beauty nearly fictitious,
So invigorating, there was no flaw
The fragrance was infectious;
There were daffodils, lilies, petunias and poppies,
Carnations and roses 'round the edges,
All gently swaying in the breeze,
With bluebells on the window ledges;
The garden was well tended to,
The charm clearly did portray,
But with such beauty, too good to be true,
Who would have it any other way?
Then she stepped out into the sun,
With seeds and pail in either hand
I hastened to compliment what she had done
With her enticing, mesmerising land;
That was when she looked at me
And my heart skipped a beat,
For her dark eyes were oblivious to beauty,
The mark of a true aesthete;

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