I only saw her maybe three or four times total at a Denny’s Restaurant where I used to hang out into all hours of the night. I never spoke to her or made any attempt to introduce myself, but clearly she made an impression since I was thinking about her when I wrote this a few years later.
Rarity
The supple wonder of her grace is art,
And how the heart responds in pace is art.
With windows to a peaceful golden soul,
Her gentle, loving, tender face is art;
In picturesque perfection lost in thought,
Her careless gaze across a space is art.
One could not dream of sculptures finer made—
Her aspect to its faintest trace is art.
A glowing warmth as from the sliding sun,
Her fragrant presence in its place is art.
Zahhar delights in treasures such as her,
For just her current in the race is art.
This is my 37th ghazal.
