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Click hereWithin the forest’s thorny bows,
A single figure stands,
The statue of some goddess fair,
Kidnapped from foreign lands.
Wild Jasmine blossoms at Her feet,
Dew pools in marbled eyes
To trail down spider-woven gowns
And fallow sod baptize.
The starling sings Her sacred hymns.
The red buck, now Her priest,
Both fail to light a flame to Her,
When seasons bring Her feast.
My Lady’s now a mossy stone,
Abandoned and forgot.
Shall we curse he whose mortal hand,
Had brought you here to rot?
because it was unified and the visual imagery was solid. C.o.S.