Scribbles

A shine of tenderness with a cocky contentment.
Power under foot and with stature, grace gliding along.
Everyone watches him and if not why not,
Can they not feel they are in the presence of gentleness?

He had an air not smoggy or dark but as light; alive.
Honesty was his umbrella and dignity his mistress.
No one could be close and not be close as he held your breath,
While waiting his passing thought, where once smitten always caught.