Not that often with that beauty and such grace
A simple hairdo does fall and flow and frame
So well a radiance and aura of a thinking face,
Running in two whirling rivulets down the chest
Where, suddenly, these waterfalls she combed
Seemed to find a rest, even if just gently vexed,
By being held at standstill only by the angled tips,
Becoming on the way a new awe and wonderment
Of two paths there and back again or two columns
Egyptian used to force apart or reconnect—for those
Who will be judged and blessed—Heaven and Earth,
All what’s high with what’s below in one felicific act
When breathless turns even an Isidian sculpted bust
In the face of her neophyte’s yielding, buckling knees.
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