Like
the body,
Of
This poem, her
very flesh were sewn
from the thread of knowledge,
She needn't be named beautiful,
For she were the definition of
beauty, And the exact
curvature of her
eyelids, told
a long and wise
tale of how she lost her
heart, The source of all
happiness and love,
And now, her
corpse lays
dead
and cold.