I.
Her skin is fair and plain
freckles and moles, a sturdy frame
her curves are pleasing and her smile's like rain
in some arid, eastern abyssal plain.

Her hair is flaxon, of the kind
cascades one day, pulled back and tied
the next, and each does mesmerize
me in its time.

Her words can be thorny but fair in a way
a less feeling person could never say
and in her artist's eye nature is at play
all sunshine and berries to pick along the way.

II.
Her skin is darker, near olive as mine
she's thin and youthful and her brown hair shines
round a face so sweet I could never design
a happier thing given endless time.

She's sassy and sweet, her tantrums short
she forgives more easily but keeps in her heart
a record of all the hurt fate's ever brought
her way unsought.

Her words to me are childlike but knowing
unlike the other she's still timid and growing
she's seen the bad side and in her eyes it shows
and yet she walks with a purpose unslowing.