"sonnet31"

with blade in hand and night in day
he held it firm when he did say
no form there is to be a girl
save for the truth in her need whirl
and when it whirled her voice not spoke
but rather did her soul awoke
so silent was the girl of flower
when all did move in just an hour
the hand to clock no longer struck
perhaps with peacock feather stuck
her spirit rained on mind of thirst
creating plays not read at first
with sword to side as had began
her eyes now veiled with just a fan ~

`t. imaan tretchicovmanicova
20dec08
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