Lady of the Fae

I nothing am but a mere conduit
For words that whisper and compose to lines,
Their origin doth mongst the faeries sit –
My muse’s whispering words by chance form mines.

I wish to speak the words that match her beauty
But she doth not yet have an open ear
For not yet doth she her true beauty see
And hence, my words rejecting, wilt not hear.

The hope remains, that as my poems grow,
So time will change the mind of this fair fae
And she will no longer reject but know
She needn’t from her beauty shy away.

But yet she self-aware doth not agree
She holds the beauty that in her I see.


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