Doubt leaves its scorned mark
Upon Box Elder’s aging bark
See how quickly grows the face
Strange and difficult to place
The meaning of her I mean to gain
Only suspicion sweetens this face of pain.
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Strange Face
Doubt leaves its scorned mark
Upon Box Elder’s aging bark
See how quickly grows the face
Strange and difficult to place
The meaning of her I mean to gain
Only suspicion sweetens this face of pain.
The Poetry of Jeffrey L. H. Naylor 