B: Iii: Old Lady Of The Camellias - Poem by Douglas Scotney
Often met first with eyes
Dark mysterious crevice
Entices nostrils in.
Fingers, tongues, they follow.
That were untold.
Disgust, it soon takes hold.
One, too staunch for hate,
Tale-tired for toil,
Tells with flower-matching ribbon
What she's made of love and Fate.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You