rhyme. verse

Painted black—her raven hair In flowing rivers—painted her shoulders. Cheeks-a-blush—a fullness there Her slate-grey eyes—two sunken boulders. The darkness of ten thousand years— But warmth to welcome tortured souls The envy of her jealous peers— As if perfection were the goal— She dances here and there with grace. Her lovely countenance aglow— The look of…