Mine was a lady painted 

Not in blushes nor in liners

No, make ups could add no greater glory

Her’s was a beauty captured not in lashes

Thickened and caked

But of a wild Irish rose

My girl grew a garden

And for a spell she let me smell

Such sweet flowers as only bloom with kisses, gin and midnight

A warmth set in from a sun baked day

Spent basking in her arms

Cooked me in her oven love

To presently present at tea

By the herbs and spices

Where scents perfumed me in her kitchens

I was awake for the clippings,

Lost myself in the lines she drew along herself

And left less and less of me for living so was I in such loving lying there waiting for her inking

Wanting only the color she’d in me be filling

I lay at her bed for days like a dog a lazing

Not the bitch she had in mind

less furry but more hairy

Less cute but more fairy

But I suppose twas not our hour

When like lemons the sweet goes sour

Stood so nobly by the door

And waiting here I waited more

But nevermore she comes to knock

To bed me take nor eyes to lock

A sitting here inside her room

The dust it creeps the floors need broom

Through cobbing webs and broken watches

I cut myself some maddened swatches

From out the clothes that bore her form

And bear them hence where e’er I’m born

A lady painted such ripened fair

Lost my head and heart laid bare

I cannot take but one more step

Until at last I weeping rest.

Goodbye my sweet, my endless Summer,

We’re off to dream anew, alone, in slumber.

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