this small slip of a woman-child,
standing there with bow and arrow drawn,
in that way women become
standing over the ones they love --
how often she had brought him back
from the edge of the abbys..
And even when she would collapse in anger,
he would watch her in amazement,
stronger than any,
who thought it was all an act of kindness.
How dare he warm himself at her fire,
and yet like a moth,
he always returned,
unable to stay away.
He would keep her there
In the shrine of his heart,