If I showed you a picture of her,
All else becomes background.
Before the Eiffel, she towers high;
She is the Alberta Foothills to the Rockies;
As curvaceous and meandering as the Amazon;
More story than Bunratty Castle;
The most intriguing smile at The Louvre;
More endurance than The Spirit of St. Louis;
As mystical as The Shroud;
More amusing than the Park;
More striking than lightning.
The sun diminishes behind her;
In any room, she is Feng Shui.
It's futile to compare.
She is the globe, all else is alien.
The last breath of winter's glory,
The first open flower of spring,
The coolness of a summer rain,
The palette of autumn's color,
These and all others wither
And fade behind the foreground.