Mist

though clearing mist revealed
The stony mask concealed
And weak eyes assailed
A hiding form in veil

A smile she did peel
from a face more than real
A return glance I said
much more than I was dead

The tower glass she held
in hands of pewter and lace
My mind fell back to place
in the valley where I dwelt

Shiny eye, weak minds...

© Harley

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