Words Someone Has Probably Already Said

The view at the end of the street

Not the sunset that glows
seemingly brighter than most,
and fits between the homes
and the lines of perfect hedgerows.
Though that could heal a heart
just as well as fresh blue start,
it's not the best piece of art
at the end of this boulevard.
Nor is it the grand old oak tree
in the garden of 63
which blows fire along the street
until the start of January.
It is a wonderful sight -
no denying that without a fight.
So majestic it touches the light
and nests radiant birds at night.
But this is still not what I crave to see
until age takes my eyes from me.
I look upon a creature so free
that she could very well take on the sea.
If you wander down this street
till there's callouses on your feet,
turn left and wait to meet
a sight you cannot possibly beat.
It seems unbelievable, I know,
but you'll thank me once you go
because if you look into her eyes of doe
and ask, she will say, 'No'.
The way her hair falls in fall,
or that she's always fit for a ball,
or how the birds listen for her call.
Yet she knows nothing at all
of all of this gossip and talk
about the graceful way she walks
and how everybody gawks
or wishes they had statues of chalk.
Her flesh, her eyes, even her bones,
all fit perfectly in her perfect home.
Gods took time on this breathing poem
and into my sight they let her roam.
So if you're looking for the best view
seek me out and I'll tell you.
Among many sights, old and new,
there stands an angel of idealised hue.