I want to write a poem about Xarathiel,
A girl so pure she deserves an isle,
Her picture on a box in the cereal aisle,
She certainly has impeccable style.
Don’t doubt for one second her guile,
She will keep you guessing for quite a while,
Till you feel completely senile,
Only then will she smile.
Her joy it runs on for many a mile,
Shaped in the design of old argyle,
Watch for how she places the tile,
Maybe she’ll make it your new hairstyle.
Sense this makes not, I’ll drain the Nile,
Just to please my little Xarathiel.
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