Though from nothing,
Where hardships bitter weaker souls,
A poised soft-lipped youngling,
Heart still delicate as a rose,
And power untold,
A statuesque long-necked sight,
Had the mind of old,
Ever enduring tragedy,
With no help of wealth,
Turning not to enmity,
Wasting hour not on herself.
She was closer to perfect ever one could be,
Never believing it, not even from me.