Her eyes were as green lights could shine in any night.
Her eyes were the hue of the new spring growth, bright and soft all at once. There were flecks of strength, of the kind of green that comes only as summer advances. And they were never more beautiful than when she cried, when her gentleness flowed over her cheeks, nor when she became the wise woman we came to depend on, decorated with laughter lines. Yet the soul and the eyes are ageless, and to me, so was she.
Her eyes were the sweet hue of spring clover.
There is a kind of green that speaks to the soul of nature, of fresh wands of grass and new buds, and her eyes were that bright colour, bold and beautiful.
He had eyes that spoke of all things newborn in the spring, of a soul that remained ever-young.
Her eyes were every green hue of the forest in summertime.
She had eyes that were softly woven with a chorus of green threads.
They say green is the strongest colour because it ignites the new season after the passing of wintry days, and in that her eyes were born strong, the green hue reminding us of sunshine and floral blooms.