A Girl In White

With due respect to the poets of love, I say, You have nothing on her, Not her eyes, Nor her smile. No. Nothing. You have not the slightest bit, of hope, to match your beauty with hers. Like convalascent lepers, other women, wail in jealousy, of what they wish they could be. They crawl and cry, in their tattered tobes, up a hill of green, towards a girl in white, Holding a bouquet, caked in yellow. And with those flowers, She turns. Slowly. Softly... Like a feather, She tosses the bouquet, right behind her, Right into the wailing lepers. They maul. They tear. They rip eachother apart, For a chance at love. The girl cries in pity. "How luck I am." she says. She turns a final time, to her husband, in order to cry for them, in order to hug him, and to go home, Forever.