She was a silent beauty. She could walk in a crowd not
drawing much attention, but when she looked at you, you would forget yourself
in her eyes. She was conceived right out of a poem, its verses her body, slender and fine. She walked in rhythm, the little ringlets of golden hair swaying.
When she laughed, there was a twinkle in her eyes, a spot of mischievousness discernible,
here now, then gone. Confusing, bewitching, maddening! Such happiness!
In her religion, women never showed their face to strangers.
Her life remained an unheard elegy to unseen beauty.
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