A PAGEANT OF BEAUTY

A MISTY DAWN
In a misty dawn, where She stands,
A pageant of beauty, not for hands.
Her heart's desire, a different scene,
The rolling hills, a verdant sheen.
The sky, a canvas, awash with gray,
Foretells the rain, a gentle sway.
Drizzle paints the emerald slopes,
A symphony where silence copes.
Each dawn's embrace, a memory dear,
The scent of petrichor, washing clear.
Raindrops whisper on the leaves,
A lullaby that nature weaves.
These simple moments, pure and bright,
A pageant queen, in morning light.
For Shweta knows, true beauty lies,
Not in the crown, but in sunrise.