Who is she, but flesh and bone,
A few flowing words put to poem.
A woman with a tender heart,
Of this world endeavoring to be part.
With frivolous verses not all wise,
Sometimes willing to compromise.
Who sits in darkened room alone,
Writing a symbolic poem.
Facing the truth: a demon or sacrificial lamb,
To condemn ones self, who gives a damn.
An imagery quilled in the dark,
Symbol bequeaths a poetic mark.