The Measure of a Woman...

Is it the auburn hair that makes the sun shine brighter, capturing every golden ray and reflecting it into a beautiful nexus, a flowing waterfall spilling from her fore head down below her neck? Is it those crisp, pure blue eyes; water flowing in an endless abyss of liquid crystals that as I dive into them to steal a stare, I drown and sink in that endless chasm and not even notice I surrendered myself from body, mind, to soul and lost it all? Could it be her charm, the gentle laugh that is caged between her upper and lower lips that bursts forth with a warmth that is as inviting as it is intoxicating?. The smile that follows that exuberance that is as steady and sure as an archers arrow is to its target. But what of that target or the arrow for that matter. Do I am aim to strike her and make her mine with a blow that knocks her off her feet? Not ever for it would not do for she is the steady, the constant, the speeding arrow that when joins the target as it should. Becomes one with it. Will that archer send that arrow that desire plumetting into the depths of my own heart? Or will the archer miss only to have wasted an arrow so fine. Even worse perhaps, if the archer doesn't miss with the intention of my heart, but aims for another. But it cannot be worse. For if the arrow I love has found a solid target, even a target that is not my own, then I can be satisfied in her choice. The woman is the archer and that arrow is her love. Let God guide that arrow lest it fall short and miss and lose its archer's love.