The Years Were Kindest to My Love

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Briefly, a soliloquy-attempt

Roan:

The years were kindest to my love

the one whose face reflected only her spirit's abundance

whose givings were born of her unmaturing nature,

and whose times could be had 

by those with no misgivings:

A cornucopia to the one whom all good is food,

a basket unpacked in the spirit of Christmas in June.

 

Fear not on your journey back to me,

for, to him, the food is more delicious than you:

so much so that as you cross, 

he might toss you a wising or two.

 

 

 

 

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