She’s the curve of fortune,
a single line bent with intention,
marked with promise.
No double-cross—unless it’s the sign
cutting her silhouette,
etching value in quiet elegance.

Her shape speaks of abundance,
carved by the weight of worth.
She moves like rivers of green,
flowing where intention leads.
Her presence, a testament
to what blooms when roots run deep.

Hold her lightly, she lingers like a gift;
clutch too tight, and you miss the point.
In her silence, there’s no lack,
only echoes of trust and plenty,
the gospel of those who know
riches are meant to be held, not owned.