Within to our resting place
There lays an ancient statue
Known as Amissa Puella
The woman who established
Our sanctuary from all
Peacefully breathed her last.
Among her fellow tribeswomen
Though she's passed
Every year on the date
When she began our haven
And the arrival of lost
We leave a single lotus blossom.
YOU ARE READING
LOST GIRLS
PoetryThose considering themselves lost girls of society. Godesses of creation among men. Or nymphs of nature. These poems were written for you.
