The Elysium Of Beauty

She dances on my thoughts like the prickles of my memory's rose, But even she cannot replicate her beauty in any photo despite the pose, She wears the crown of tulips in gold, So, whoever reads her legacy they shall meet what's love as the legend is being told, She might've pits of loneliness in her past but she levitated on what she created, Leaving every face of distress and eyebrows of tension rusticated, While looking up she creates nostalgic continents from the sky, No one has ever heard how beautiful is the nature except from her especially during the days of dry, Today there is no light like her to guide the frogs trapped in the cave of confession, Nowadays what flows in the bloodstream is the tide of illusion, As someone scratches their head to make it more muddy, Once came and then walked away but still she's my elysium of beauty.