Traditional Ways

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Myriad Thoughts

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The strand of hair fluttered about her face, caressing her every now and then, as if in complete submission to her beauty. Her blank straight face posed a contrast, made all the more stark by the absence of any cue. An emotion would have been an acknowledgment, the indifference seemed unnecessary an authority over submission.
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Dew drops on the rose sit clear and round, Enhancing its beauty manifold; Sparkling in rainbow colors they appeal, But do they know its surreal; Akin fragrance, they shall not persist, The union is so short-lived; Touch the petal and they roll down quick, Out comes the sun and the trace is amiss!
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