If I, your humble poet, could simplify my star my muse my flower's beauty into words then you, dear reader, would have paragraphs upon paragraphs to read for, if it was possible, I would take the time, detailing The color, length of her golden-bronze hair, Soft threads spun from only the finest material. I would speak of the depth and clarity of her eyes, crystalline clear as sapphire. I would tell of her smooth, milky skin, dotted lightly and delicately with the most perfect freckles. Her nose, upturned ever so slightly, to give her a high-society look. The crinkles around her eyes when she lends me a genuine smile. The lines on her palms finally leading me home. But since it all is impossible, my words barely qualifying as the tip of the iceberg, I will simply sit And admire my flower. My muse. My Star.