A girl of old,

All dressed in leaves,

And leather boots,

With sequin-stud sheaths.


Hair darkest black,

Face palest white,

With silver eyes,

And lips filled with shine.


Features are soft,

Like worn with rain,

And youngish age,

No wrinkles of pain.


Belt of the twine,

Found in far trees,

Tunic of leaves,

Blown dry in the breeze.


Her ears have point,

Dark knife at belt,

Curious frown,

At move in the bush.


Hair full of waves,

Around her neck,

Flow over vial,

It’s clear blood she kept.

The End

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