Plato's Cave

What happens when words and images cohabit the same space?

Thursday, January 05, 2006

The Bride

I'll put my snowy gown away,
And view it not for many day.
Then nostalgic I’ll reminisce,
How once a virgin yet unkiss’d.
I yearned to be some man’s chattel,
To bear his whelp and tend his cattle.
But if his care prove unrewarding,
Things not unfold as should according,
Reserved have I a means so dire,
That his soul would pray for fire.


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