She was like a plant grown on her own, br Those white legs were tenderer than flowers, br The green eyes had been displaying, br Nothing ferocious or mysterious br Nothing scheming, br Nor like Helen of troy br Or a Cleopatra br br She lay like ice on white canvas sheet br She would melt though. br The worshipper was still waiting for those br Quivering lips. br br Strangely all this was not so intense, br The language was sweet and alien, br There was no anger in her tone, br No frown on her forehead. br Nothing was either wrong, br br She was neither guilty, br The first sin has died long ago, br And the new sins are so sweet. br br She woke up from her dream, br To the first crisp ray of the day, br She knew she was intact. br br And as she left, br She was looking ahead in some direction, br There was no remorse and a small happy encounter br There was nothing more to the story, br Except that she had been drinking hard at night. br And she was like a bird left by the flock br She would then catch up, br In the land where fairies live.