It's no consolation
to the fool
of the eye,
that another soul
tasteth the fruit
of the sky,
The eyes of the faery
queen borne on the wind,
so innocent natured
yet female sinned.
My torture and torment
the arrow and bee,
command ye the mountains
forever be free,
while wanton abandon
is caught in life's net,
I wont go with you
not yet not yet.
She looked to the future
and turned to the west,
like something prophetic
the sun rose where it sets,
and there in the darkness
came one burst of dawn,
a song of her beauty
for me forlorn.
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