dedicated to Galatea
She is a rose
Wilted before the bloom
Though the thorns
Are ever vibrant
She is a line of prose
Boasting bleakest gloom
Though the script
Sings like a siren
She is the beauty
Fallen into decay
Though her ruins
Are blindingly bright
She is the call to duty
Leading good men away
Though her cry
Will yet make corpses of us all
She is her greatest pain
She is her deepest fear
She is her worst enemy
She is her highest hope
She is my only friend
