She is a white peacock,
a rare vision in a world of color,
pure as the first snowfall,
a ghostly silhouette in the moonlight.
Her feathers whisper secrets of the sky,
each plume a delicate brushstroke
in a painting of ethereal grace.
She moves through the world like a whisper,
a silent symphony,
her beauty not loud, but profound,
not flashy, but timeless.
In the forest, she is a specter,
a dream drifting between trees,
her eyes holding the wisdom of ages,
her presence a gentle revelation.
She dances in the twilight,
her steps a poem of solitude,
her existence a testament
to the beauty found in quiet places,
the majesty in still moments.
She is a white peacock,
a rarity, a wonder,
a reminder that in a world
brimming with noise and color,
there is unparalleled beauty in the serene,
the subtle,
the silent.
