(From one who once heard her speak.)
“With a ring of lily petaled bells
She speaks in bright soprano reflections,
Of giving sun and mirrored moon…”
Three lines are all this pen can conceive!
The womb is dry, the mouth barren,
With truths that cannot be put to paper!
Cassandra trice accursed yet no Apollo scorned.
Three lines, no more! Three lines, no more!
And every word falls dead at which it speaks.
She speaks in bright soprano reflections,
Of giving sun and mirrored moon…”
