With eyes the colour of the cloudless sky,
And hair like mighty dunes of sand,
She moves elusively and yet with such grace;
It is a dangerous sort of beauty.
Her eyes snap sharply into mine,
Whenever my gaze lingers a second too long.
Her stare traps mine own in place and so
I stay there frozen with fear... or is it awe?
I would love to tell myself
That such a flower is not meant for me,
But I would only be lying to myself
Because I love the thrill of the game.
I truly do admire her spirit,
Like the Great Pyramids it stands tall,
Against all odds,
Never bending an inch...
A fascination overwhelms me even now.
Can I even hope to keep up,
Or has the game already been won
By the Desert Rose?