Poemetry: Princess

Her name bestows Her crown,

and glints of greater gold

than the sun, pressed and rolled,

above a circlet of sparrow down.

Her laugh ends the angels’ strain,

lulling their holy harps to hush;

Her smile causes the roses to blush

and polishes the stars’ silver train.

All auric anadems mar Her head

for they displace Her aureole

with paltry pyrite bare of soul,

an anathema, in its stead.

God alone could adorn and bless

with singular beauty such a princess.


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