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Sadness flutters off her brow like a stifled smile.
Beguile, it does, that brow, for all the while,
Beneath it lays no sadness but instead,
A mystery unexplained from toe to head.

A mystery yes indeed it can be said,
For have you ever smiled while your heart bled?
A spell, it seems to be, that has the power,
To place the prickly thorns upon the flower.

Oh, beastly brow, beneath you I do cower,
For never have I seen a sweet so sour.
The calm before the storm, yes, that is what you are;
A sudden gust of wind that goes not very far.  

At once you're both a lonely shooting star,
And a poem, though macabre and bizarre.
Oh, brow of Eve, why art thou now subdued,
When only just before you dressed another mood?

Why do your eyes beneath their beauty brood?
How do your senses rest in chronic feud?
Your mystery shall forever haunt my soul -
Fair warning to all whom this brow may toll!