Lines from my Journal
What first drew me to her was a noble mien
not submitting to her baser being.
Her mind and soul surpass my own,
and my admiration waned to envy.
From her pen-holding hand,
fell words of loft and import.
The laurel I wreathed her in,
it withered and shattered.
Bitter chaw filled her mouth,
and carelessness crept her feet.
She fell to Earth,
and though this placed her body at hand,
who wants an Earthly thing?
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