The Beloved's Portrait

That face of hers, these eyes of mine

They make me fall for her every time

I wonder how could I watch her from near

Wanting to see more and more of her

When she looks back what could I ail

Whom could I talk of love

When you don't meet me often

I could say I am sick

Can you come lay beside me

But they say lies don't last very long

That innocence of hers how could it surpass that

Loving someone who isn't really there

That's whom I call my beloved

Poetry reminds me of you sometimes

They say it's exaggeration

I feel it's imagination

I paint her brows with the nib of my pen

Sketch her face with this Ink of mine

Even the dearest I loved the best never came

That's when she appeared to come out of her portrait