By nature fair as the moon,
With talents to match a fairy,
Yet so eccentric that all marvel at her.
To her, men are filthy;
Rich men in silk are vulgar and loathsome.
She knows not that superiority fosters hatred,
For the world envies too much talents.
By the purple sky of the setting sun,
She will fade away,
Like a rainbow-colored bubble.
Her rouge and handkerchief,
Her youth and beauty, all wasted
For a man she both despises and loves.
Even as a crystal rose dropped in thick mud,
Young scions of noble houses will sigh for her.
Jan 2, '08 5:16 PM
for Miracle's friends and Miracle's family
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