Poor Renoir

Your beauty is beyond compare
Even Renoir could only paint you half as fair
As you are to me,
My lovely, lovely lady.

No he couldn't capture that smile of yours
That key home God gave you
So you could open Heaven's doors.
What would poor Monsieur Renoir do?

His brush would turn green with envy
Of God's creative hand
For he would come to see
No one could replicate such a beautiful woman.

By: Anthony AJ Jackson 7-15-99 9:22a.m.