She walks upon skies of stars,
And talks the talk of flowers.
If only I could be of her race:
Beauty.
Her laughter obnoxious and free.
She doesn't care who hears or sees.
Why should she?
She is always happy,
With or without me.
It seems....
I can't stop thinking about her,
Because,
She walks upon skies of stars.
Every step she takes a new
Constellation is made and
Named after her.
And she talks the talk of flowers.
Every word a petal or a thorn.
Every sentence a daisy or a rose.
If only I could be of her race:
Beauty.