Some eyes captivate, other's are plain and drab, The mirror of the soul could be of blight. Irises could be blue, others are brownish, Some are charming green or ebony black.
When I look at your eyes, my heart beats like a deer. Thine compassion struck me and my lips quiver. There's something in your eyes that consoles me; something in thine countenance that comforts me.
Thine iris is somewhat brownish, a colour that mesmerises me. Thine soul is pure and thine heart is blazing red. A heart who loves us, a power which engulfs us. Thine eyes pierces our hearts. Thine iris seeks us.
All rights reserved: Cynthia Abegail