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Verses one, two, three

 

I knew her mother
christened her Untold
nobody has found why
my lot call her Mary
when they call her
Mary of the storm's eye

"you know I love you..."
her old poetry
nobody could resist
following closely
only to repent
the visions madly wished

I do not blame her
call her to account
nor denigrate her
in words less craven
the portrait painted
feeds our brooding nature

◄ Equal

Oumuamua ►

Comments

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Laura Taylor

Mon 16th Apr 2018 13:57

Ooo I like this. Very enigmatic. I love that you called her Untold.

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