Painting a Poem
Widened lips in an inert ligneous watercraft, fervent eyes gazing the moon,
Her mane of aureate intriguing hair in a wintry night, the dark cranium of a dainty loon.
Unblemished ivory gown glistering under the umbra of gleaming stars, wondrous quietness of the prodigious forest.
Benign fog over the serene skin of a highland tarn, beautifying the panorama as a fragrant florist.
A fugitive moment's princess, the waterscape peculiarly blithesome,
A dream breathing itself out of wisdom, am I earnestly painting a poem?
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