Roses wear perishable beauties,
the red, the black and the brown,
they all fade when the sun smiles.
But your beauty, ever lit glaringly,
taunting Eden's trees' greeneries.
I saw the sun crying that august noon,
when you stepped out on bowing stars
wearing a red cutely made babe cocoon.
And this earth also cowering tremulously,
just your beauty is read by a seismograph!
Look around, some are made of hay,
others of colored hue; bleached greys,
but your skin as the petals of a hibiscus,
irradiates the midday's sun to shine on us
You are the muse of singing Nightingales!
You are a gritless mash of bravery and beauty,
clear quintessence of candor's queen in dignity.
Your worth is not told by reading gold's purity,
for even diamond dug yesterday from a quarry
speaks too little of the glamour in your smile!
Happy birthday Ma Funmi Ilori
Your worth is mete by the stars in your night sky,
those little candles of nature you gifted with pride.
© Ben James
#ANSALiteraryFunGame
Hmmmm
am3mm10@ptsolest