The Potrait Of A Lady Poem by Wilmore Godfrey Hingert

She owed the eternal youth.
Like a Vampyress she was
She was older than the dungeon, she was dwelling forever
She was imortally death,
But her smile was very lively zombied
Her eyes concealled a historical mystique,
Reflected by the lunar of the were-night:
Lock up silently in a mansion of dusk
She was surrounded by grieve and lust
Both days and night she sat mysteriously
On the rock of thousands edges
and in the castle of hundreds generations
Her creator had left the world leaving her
If only he was still breathing
Surely, she would be loved
This made he heart shattered in envy
The anonymous tale-un-told of this potrait
of a lady.....