Rara Avis

The sun smiled down upon the summer trees

That waved back with delighted desire.

Yet it shown not where she stood amongst herself,

Afraid to touch the face of death.

Beneath the tears of the willow tree she concealed her pity,

Accompanied only by that of a loving dove,

The angel of peace that saw past sin.

The sins of her father that were exposed through her.

A new bruise by the passing day stained her pale face;

Lined by her hair like a serpent that twisted and coiled.

Her shadow was the only presence she felt,

The only one that heard her desperate breath

As crimson poison leaked pain from her arm.

No one knew of what grace lived in her;

Grace of her mother that had faded with time.

Faded like the setting sun that turned its back from her.

But still perched on branches above,

God in white beauty protected her. 

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