12I may speak in tongues of men or of angels, but if I am without love, I am
a sounding gong or a clanging cymbal. I may have the gift of prophecy, and
know every hidden truth; I may have faith strong enough to move mountains;
but if I have no love, I am nothing. I may dole out all I possess, or even
give my body to be burnt, but if I have no love, I am none the better.
-The Bible, 1st Book of Corinthians
It was autumn.
The morning air was fresh and cool,
The grass bottle-green,
The blossoming blooms
Were of a thousand hues and
The beautiful gold red leaves drooped
From the trees' branches.
Staring out of the misty train window,
He caught sight of the most gorgeous girl
He had seen in years.
She had wavy, chestnut hair that
Cascaded down her slender shoulders and
Her skin was like marble with the
Purity of rich, snow-white petals of a rose.
She had a Grecian nose and finely chiseled features,
And a smile was playing at the corners of her mouth.
Wearing a fitting white dress with green floral patterns,
Her slim waist was accentuated.
In her hands, she clasped a golden sunflower.
Looking at her fingers stroking the delicate petals
Just made him want to catch up her hand.
But what really captivated him were
Her mesmerizing emerald eyes that
Slanted up in a graceful arc.
They were stunning,
Almost like swirling pools of ocean water,
Continuously eddying, drawing him into them
Without meaning to.
The brilliant sunlight bathed her entire being and
She stood there,
Almost like a vision,
An angel in the radiant light.
He was entirely entranced by her and
Wondered who she was,
Staring at her with awe-filled eyes.
But if he had turned to look another minute more,
He would have had the shock of his life.
A little, scruffy orphan had shuffled up to her,
Tugging at her skirt and begging with woebegone eyes
For a penny.
But she instead, narrowed her eyes to thin slits,
Then shouted at the child to get lost.
Moaning, she frantically smoothed her dress,
claiming tearfully that
That horrible brat had stained it beyond repair.
Oh! She wailed. What am I to do?
'Tis my best dress, no less!
The poor child humbly begged her pardon,
But she only turned up her little nose and flounced off in a huff.
Oh! Sorry is the state of this world,
Where appearances are deceiving.
But be not forgetful to
Entertain strangers,
For thereby some have
Entertained angels
Unawares.