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“She walks in beauty,”
so said the poet-Lord.
Yet, beauty thus beheld
is painted by external eyes,
and with those lashes,
hopes and lies.

“She walks in truth,”
replied philosophy.
Ideals of truth oft lead
to broken paths of pain
and loneliness.
She is guaranteed to stumble
on the blocks of reality.

“She walks in fear,”
so said the villainous.
Fear in pain and darkness call,
following sorrowing to evil’s fall.

“I walk in love,” said she.
“Love guides most truthfully
past fears that would beset
life’s stroll through joyousness.
And if the love I share should fumble,
I throw that love to others double.
My love will cast
the perfect beauty
to a pavement queen
of homeliness.”

“Fear my love,
it is my truth
and beauty.”