Still, I Wonder

of the gypsy’s daughter

In the parade of youth’s many untruths
Set away on a vermilion day
Astray, the pecking order now decayed
Frayed at its edges in the Sun was you
To say I chanced a look would be uncouth
Not quite the truth, such, you glittered as gold
Foretold was the culmination of youth
Such charmed and nonchalant beauty I recall
And since we had met that previous time
A second breath was needed to define…

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