How many deeds, particularly committed by women, that might in themselves seem deplorable, have become glorified down through history because they were committed in the name of Love. And our daily history is filled with deeds, committed by the fair hand of woman, because of her great love, that are overlooked or condoned. In what measure shall Love forgive these deeds done for its sake?
Aburst with emotions, tremulous and new as summer dew – a tornado and a purple hyacinth in one.
Never again a girl, but a woman's heart straining out for a hope that shall never be.
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