For Aine

Her skin is alabaster
of finest china bone
her hair a darker crimson
than any ruby stone
Paler than Nicaragua
gaze of Valparaiso
I speak now as a child
Whose wonder is unblemished
And pure and undefiled
For no words I have learned since then
Can even part convey
What beauty this girl bestows
Upon the light of day
And somehow yet more exquisite
More fetching even, still
She bears O’Reilly blood in her
You trifle, she will kill.

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