Sidney
Is the prettiest woman in the world.
No other woman can compare with Sydney–
Her eyes, her face, her body, her voice,
Her every feature appealing and without an imperfection,
Her hair in particular, long and black as ink.
The moment I think of Sydney it is spring in my heart.
When she walks with me her body sways as
Gracefully as a willow. The chill of evening–
Night falling–the moon glow–is her loveliest hour.
I adore Sydney’s simplicity of manner in everything,
With her gentleness, delicacy, and refinement,
And her intelligence, wit, and charm when she speaks,
For that’s the impression
Sydney, whose beauty is beyond expression
In every language but a poet’s, makes upon me.
Oh, if only Sydney loved me.
© 2025 David J. Rogers
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If she loved you, would you think she was less than perfect?
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She would have been perfect under any conditions–I think. Thanks for the comment.
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Nice poem, David.
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Thank you, Andrew.
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