The Poet and the Girl With Mystic Dew Hair
Her hair was as lush as life;
filled with mystic dew,
as the morning light I soaked in....
fingers strewn to skelatal hues,
death could not pursue the love in those eyes.....
Tenderly she gave me love,
such love as I was due ---
I pursued her
(intent on dissadence)
I mused ---
I'd rather fight the devil with a toothpick,
and give him a pawn or two;
was she devine!
I do confide
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