Sonnet in Jasmine Green

Of all the world's beauty, how could she care
for roses or raiment, when all that paled
in sight of the heights, her diction had scaled.
If only this talent weren't that rare.

The arts of poetry her most loved flair
but unaware of the beaus' eyes that trailed
a bosom so heavy when the words failed
her heart chasing dreams on a laid-back chair.

Moonlight on the back of a varied thrush
its voice a clarion call in this scene
cool, dark, peaceful solitude by the brush.

Sweet nothings born in a nocturnal rush.
Jasmine trumpets in bountiful leaves' green
played fragrant ballads to her newfound crush.