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If you do not know by now, The most beautiful woman; Go follow the tracks that shall, That leads to second to none. The beautiful woman walks, As she is leaving the trail; Where the shepherd tends the flocks, As she is gentle and frail. My true love just like a mare, For you have a comely face; Your eyes twinkle as they stare, And have such style and grace. Your neck like a string of pearls, And a figure that is bold; Attitude like little girls, Having a heart pure as gold. The king is at his table, As your perfume fills the air; Making the king unstable, And intoxicated stare. My beloved is a pouch of myrrh, That lies at night on my chest; Hair feels like animal fur, A comfort while I rest. My beloved is a bouquet, As a cluster of flowers; And my mind begins to sway, Dreaming away the hours. Look at you as my true love, For you are so beautiful; Sent down from Heaven above, The Lord has been merciful. For you look so fair my love, And so pleasing for to see; So spread your wings like a dove, And come fly away with me. Copyright © 2015 Richard Newton Sherrer Vote for this poem
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