Poetry

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What is beauty; is it only in the beholder's eye?
Is it in the gentle sigh escaping from the sweet parted lips of a babe;
Or reflected in the blue of your eye?
Or when the violins sing, their voices swell giving life to a composer’s emotion,
Is beauty in the heart or in the mind?

When I look at your cherished face and my heart stirs in my chest
Do I see beauty or feel it?
I see and feel the sun light filtering through the amber maple leaves,
Dappling the earth, warming the fragrant sod.
The seasons change, putting on new finery to suit their mood,
Each trying to be more beautiful than the last.

Where does beauty come from, can it be held in moments or captured by word;
Can it be locked in man's heart or as a winging bird does it resist capture?
From character to melody, feeling to vista
Beauty can only be the creation of God.

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