What is she?
What is she?
A poem to an elfkind
Her ways are eyrie,
Like the splendor of royalty.
Her mind is eerie,
But casts curiosity rather than fright.
She has such comeliness;
one the Creator made without frugality.
He lavished her with more than meets the eyes.
So much pulchritude, that it doesn't make much sense
But for once, good comes out of something made in excess.
Unless He was making a human and more.
"cast not your worship to anything else" He said,
And yet made a person we can't help adore.
One could try not give a tinker's damn.
Until he sees her, and his mind is caught in a jam
Blood flowing to his heart is stopped by a bar.
A bar we should call an Eltrika Dam.
Perhaps she's not human,
Ears look like she came from Alfheim,
Eyes typical of those made for one in a higher realm.
It'd be fair to to say, then; "many days after creation, God made the first Elfe."
If I believed in fairytales, I'd say she's an Elfe.
Or an angel sent down to earth.
But, what would one like that be doing amongst men?
Were I God, I'd be selfish, and never let her leave the eyries.
If she's meant to be our temptation.
Like the tree of knowledge, and Adam and Eve,
Many men, without the serpent, will joyfully give in.
What is she?
I keep pondering.
Why am I so concerned?
I don't know.
It however does seem this comely one
has become the star performer of a muse show.