She stands there,
My glass Muse,
Like a crystal statue,
Clear and pure.
Her face,
Luminous and pale,
Like silver moonlight
Reflecting on calm nightly waters,
Inspire
The weakened minds
Of dismal poets
Her hands,
Delicate and graceful,
Like bright white fire,
Arouse
The deadened souls
Of lost artists
Her voice,
Soft and enchanting,
Like faint music
Dancing in the wind,
Whisper
In the vacant dreams
Of sleeping men
Yes, there she stands,
Beautiful and majestic,
A queen.
Yet,
I dare not glance her way
Lest she disappears,
My glass Muse.
I dare not touch her skin
Lest she breaks,
My glass Muse.
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