Hearth
She wears a feather in her hair,
With a thin and gentle frame.
She bears fiery hazel in her eyes,
With but few and quiet words.
She has a bright smile, unmatched in heart,
The pulse of love's resounding throb.
Birthday
It's funny, I know. For to be thinking, not about myself, No. I'm thinking about your soft arms, Your precious hands that cleansed my wound, Your starry eyes, and your quiet legacy.
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