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| This is a special poem... it's describing someone different I know and what she is capable of... go ahead and find out what I'm talking about... |
| Her face is more beautiful than a rose, Her strides more majestic than a dove clearing one's woes. A glorious blossom, making all neglect her thorns, Making all she touches mourn. How can such a beauty be so evil? Might it be, thou art a weasel? Can love so strong be beaten by hate so dark? Thou art a wounded soldier who will forever be burdened by a mark. |
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| Oh! Loving Hate |
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