I was flipping through the dictionary one night, through the P’s, and I saw a picture of a “lacquered paper parasol” in the left-hand margin. I thought it really rolled off the tongue nicely. Presto! “Overarching Beauty” was born.

Never did I imagine,
An object that could enthrall,
Like the keeper of the inn’s,
Lacquered paper parasol.
With intersecting lines,
And subtle traceries,
‘Twas more a Gothic window,
   Than human canopy!
Yet when the sun came beating,
Its rays were still displaced, by
     The overarching beauty,
Composed upon its face.
Oh, and when she twirled it,
When she flickt her supple wrist,
Could a more hypnotic top,
In the world ever exist?—

A kaleidoscope of colors,
In symmetrical design,
Revolved with blazing speed,
Above her dainty glide.