The song she sang of morning, sweet with life,
And how she walked the mountain ridge to bathe
Her flawless form in sparkling springs;
Blackberry hair fell sleek to statue shoulders,
Pale and marbled breasts brushed by the strands,
Her parted lips sighed of wondrous things.
Eyes that glowed of chestnuts, glittered
Flecked with glints of rain and melting ice,
Blazing sheen of autumn fire;
And the smile, spreading arc of sensuality,
Wrenched the hearts of men with sweetest pangs,
Invested them with tenderness, desire.
All the world bowed down, her intellect and beauty,
Young and as close to perfection’s ideal
As the earth could hope to hold;
But ultimately sadness, the black spot, mushroomed,
Nestled hidden in her brain - it took her out one day
And laid her rest when life grew cold.