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I love her clear, azure-blue eyes
and her golden tresses;
wise, and with love that never dies
or wavers, she blesses.

Behind those intelligent eyes,
she ponders and listens;
as I surmise, she bears the ties
of saintliness that glisten.

With yellow tresses dressed in waves,
spooled, and weaved in sage;
she braves the loathing that enslaves,
assuaging enmity's rage.

Sage, wise, and just, she's elegant,
lovely, and compassionate;
and eschews man's Pride, the giant
of sins that's intemperate.

Alas! Her existence's undone,
and more concept than real:—
that she's fiction I sadly bemoan,
for she's "la femme idéale."


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Comments

The following comments are for "La Femme Idéale"
by Apple

nice.
this poem paints a lovely picture. very nice.

( Posted by: johnjohndoe [Member] On: March 16, 2015 )





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