Saturday, July 2, 2011

Her hair was like a rope what's woven from the raven's wing
It flowed like river water from her brow
Her eyes were two brown stones that twinkle underneath the water
Her voice moved as quickly as the Hondo...

He saw her and he longed for her, a flower in the desert
His name was gold and silver to the town
To this day who can say if love was written on her heart
All we know is that the flower got cut down.

--from The Ballad of Turley's Bride (a work in progress).

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