Perfection
Around the edges, the eyebrows taper a little too sharp, And the face is imbalanced, neither round nor oval, they harp, Perhaps just a little more effort, could have salvaged Mona Lisa’s fate, It could have been a lot better,
Daisybud
Swaying in consonance with an ebullient breeze, She shakes off its advances, with a careworn ease, Ruffling her petals, as she hung onto a slender stalk, Proclaiming gustily that it isn’t only humans who stalk. She stands up, and walks