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Rated: E · Poetry · Romance/Love · #2222419
This lyric poeticizes about my feminine ideal, who to me exists as an abstract idea only.
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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