Wednesday, May 05, 2004

My Love In Her Attire

My love in her attire doth show her wit,
It doth so well become her:
For every season she hath dressings, fit,
For winter, spring, and summer.
No beauty she doth miss,
When all her robes are on:
But Beauty's self she is,
When all her robes are gone.

With the summer heat creeping in once again, what better can a caring Romeo wish for his Juliet. Its not vulgarity or indecency that's critically appreciated here, but a mere technical solution to the ever worrying problem of "comfort and fit" that every woman unknowingly likes carrying along. However, the bottom line is - "beauty in the purest form is always worth uncountable admirations."


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