Effortless Beauty

“Effortless beauty,”

the men around town called her.

The stroll and elegance in her step

mesmerized the canny and the witty.

The simplicity of her facial expressions,

blessed with a zeal of ambient youthfulness

the freedom in her eyes,

the nimble blush on her face…

Effortless beauty was everything.

The grace in her conversation,

her appealing style of apparel

perfectly structured in her feminine grace.

There was beauty in the way she carried herself,

in the way honor clung to her name,

in the quiet prudence that set her apart.

The impudent and hoodlums

always conjectured about the source of her beauty

whenever she walked by.

The trees and flowers screamed vitality

whenever she walked down the park.

The butterflies and lilies lit in euphoria,

with deep enamor.

“Effortless Beauty”

I called her the day we finally crossed paths,

her antics steadily choking the reins of my confidence.

“She was it,” my fragile mind connoted.

Seven months later,

I was the talk of the town.

I had landed Effortless Beauty.

The cowhands and rednecks,

dazzled in sheer appreciation of my ‘heroics,’

offered me a couple of rounds on their take,

but I declined,

for I’d been bewitched and bewildered

by Effortless Beauty.