Artistic Nude Photography

O fairest silk, spun not by mortal loom,
But woven ‘pon the flesh of godly hand,
Thy tender veil, like petals in full bloom,
Doth hush the air and whisper where it land.

Lo! How the earth, in callous might doth rise,
With jagged bones and sinews wrought in stone,
Its breast laid bare ‘neath tempest-ravaged skies,
Unmoved, unbowed, in solitude alone.

Yet thou, O softness, born of breath and dream,
Art warmth upon the cold unyielding clay,
A silver mist o’er mountain’s rigid seam,
That bends yet breaks not, yielding not to fray.

Thus nature doth in contrast weave her art—
The earth her frame, but woman is her heart.