He oft times is as a wild wretch and can drag down those near him to his folly where joy dare not cross. She was first to ever adore him, yet she refuses to follow him downward into his dank moisture realm. For it affords He oft times is as her as his handmaiden when finally desire to return consumes his wayfaring spirit.
Needing as he must to seek out the peacefulness and spongy sod of his quiet solitude. Using tranquil eye she will recognize that he could only allow but a minor collection into his weed - hidden heart. So with gentle patience she waits knowing that his tattered soul although a splendor of woe will forever be her nervy minstrel.
So hand in hand they pace, she his alone and he to her. Unaware of fools and rakes, blind to the hapless stranger. Forever entertwined unsure where each begins or ends.
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