Svetlana stepping out of the car, imperiously impervious to the buffeting wind, striding forward with a satisfied Cheshire grin in place, reminded me of a poem by Lord Byron ... in completely the opposite way to what he had intended! I can hear him turning in his grave at this outrageous parody, but here goes ... 😆
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of fluttering leaves and stormy skies;
And all that's best of dark and sly
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus hidden in that sultry light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the slithering grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or harshly shines o'er her face;
Where thoughts torridly egregious express,
How impure, how vile their dwelling-place.
And on that cut glass cheek, and o'er that arched brow,
So defined, so mute, yet eloquent,
The smiles that entrap, the anklets that glow,
But tell of days in odiousness spent,
A Machiavellian mind at conflict with all below,
A hate filled heart whose love is anything but innocent
Here is the exquisite original poem :)
~Ruchi