Tresses the
color of spun sugar
Lips like
ripe apples
Eyes the
color of blue sapphire
Her gown the
color of moonbeams
Her skin as soft
as cream
She radiates
a glow from within
Surrounded
by her cousins, the Jinn
Her long and
adept fingers
Touch lightly
the strings on her harp
A little happy,
a little sad
But never once sound sharp
Then this
sweet Dryad
Who sweetly plucks
humanity’s melody
That is unwritten
up till now
Will soon complete
her symphony
And then will take a bow
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