The sweetest face

In a field of mediocrity,

Aine sits prettily with

both of her white shoes laced.

 

The goddess of the moon and the sun;

She’s as double faced as she is bright.

Her web she has begun to spun,

As men begin to fall at her feet

With offerings of empty appraisal and false love.

 

Elegant and neat,

She rules the places she occupies

Without her, life is incomplete.

 

But she defends the one she loves

With the ferocity of a thousand in one

 

She’ll come at your door with

A handful of knives

Behind her smiling facade

And scream,

 

“Hell hath no fury

Like a woman scorned.”