I bear a friendship rare ~
to a gal neat-o and fair ~
And to what might I compare,
Her preponderance of flair?

“To diamond!” thought I keen ~
But no; for I had seen ~
Squished carbon? How obscene.
My friend is Astatine

Winter window, shivering
Midnight moonlight, withering
Beneath impending cloud ~

The frozen plain, before her
The freezing pane, ignores her
The moonlight slips her shroud ~

The life, she thought abandoned,
The choice, she had no hand in,
A necklace keeps her proud ~

To choose to fail while trying,
To choose a freezing dying,
To die with head unbowed ~

But maybe,
in the trying,
She's cause,
a few,
their dying~

Tomorrow morn, she vowed.

Thou art, faire maid, misplacing said gratitude ~

for it is we, thine audience, enriched by thine attitude ~

We must thank thee, for services rendered ~

more beautiful currency, hast ne'er been tendered.

Suddenly, once lovely,
Becomes so beautiful ~
Suddenly, from pretty,
Gorgeous rendered whole.

The light within her eyes
Had neither waxed nor waned ~
It simply shines more clearly
When absent of her frames.

It would be sweet to **** a dragon~
and save a princess fair~
Riding by the monster's corpse~
smoke drifting from my hair~

To cut the ropes that held her~
snugly to the pole~
and not to find her satisfied~
as a living goal~

To see her nod her thank you~
and turn from me to find~
within the dragon's treasures~
a great big axe to grind~

To see her sift through armors~
of knights the dragon dined~
To see her eyes light up upon~
a set that suits her fine~

And then to bid me forward~
And as her partner I obey~
To render her assistance~
In other dragons for to slay~

...cool, calm feeling,
of stone walls yielding,
to pressures gentle in my mind;

this allowing for,
such immoral lore,
which all my training calls a crime;

and should it prove at last,
a hard, restrictive cast,
for bones which never tore…

Then criminal, perhaps.
But careful thought as lapse?

Then what is this law for?

The wildflower… bred by no one, uncultivated;
raised hard, raised rough.
No glass pane to shield you, nor tender hand revealed you,
standing all the sweeter ‘gainst the grass.
There may be some the fairer,
though none so brave to dare her,
wild, wild flower in the wind.