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She stood tall and strong and willowy

She matched the grace of Leonardo

The clarity of Picasso

The lyrics of Wordsworth

The intensity of Milton

And the power Merit Ptah

She was admired by many

Stricken by few

Envied by simpletons

Humbled by graciousness.

Then, startled, she awoke

Slowly, dazed, unbelievingly

One fine summer night

After playing with friends.

Her solitary sojourn

Amongst the grass and rushes

Was not pieced together

Until she saw the strewn knickers

The missing bra

The blood soaked legs

The torn vagina,

And the tattered dress…

Fifty yards away.

Surely the statue would stand

For another turn around the Sun

Desecrated by another human man

Who only howled at the moon.


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