She

She,

Golden

Hair to waist

Lips like berries

Full-hipped, small waisted

Sweet perfume of roses

In her gently swaying wake

Oh, She cried, I am no beauty

Only a woman like another–

The lady doth protest too much, methinks

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About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
This entry was posted in A River of Stones, aros, etherees, short poems, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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