To Lady Sylvie In Her Fulsome Beauty

Sylvie, about your fulsome curves these lines are written;

with beauty such as yours, this poem is wholly smitten.

I dreamed, tonight:  you come through the church's front door.
Then, seated, you slip your shoes off to be the more

comfortable, and upon your smiling face this shows.

The stupid rules that fashion magazines impose

fail here:  proved by your choice to wear sheer "suntan" hose,

the kind with opaque reinforcements at your toes.

Here my dream ended, but its parting implication

seems obvious enough:  to raise this declaration---

(I am not one of those old pea-brains that refuses

the gentle prompting of an offered inspiration)---

Sylvie, you are, doubtless, one of the finest Muses.

Let this sonnet express, here, my appreciation.




Author's Notes/Comments: 

I woke with the first three lines of this poem, already intact, at abut 3:30am this morning.  Sylvie graduated from high school in our class of 1976.  I admit, to my great shame, that I did not have the courage to express to her, then, my acknowledgement of her beauty.  

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