Alexander Porrello


The Ivory Tower


My love of her was but a dream,
a reflection, a sorry fake
of she I love, of all I dream,
the loveliest, who crushed the snake.

A mother fair, the purest spouse,
temple of he whose death has brought
such sweet relief, the dead has roused,
eternal life our savior wrought!

His mother fair, my Lady wise,
her rosy cheeks, radiant glow!
She is my help, she is my prize,
the Morning Star, Mystical Rose!

Her knight I am, her lowly serf.
My bended knee is on the turf.

Submitted: Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Edited: Thursday, January 30, 2014

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Comments about this poem (The Ivory Tower by Alexander Porrello )

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  • Adeline Foster (1/30/2014 3:25:00 PM)

    Ah, but ivory is illegal and knights no longer scale towers. Still well placed. Read mine - Despair -
    Adeline (Report) Reply

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