Not much is really known of
the eldest girl with the sultry
voice and the ink-stained
fingers; whether she was
a decent dancer like her
other sisters; whether she
could truly hold a tune
in her throat or her belly,
or perhaps she just moaned
the forms. Was she tightly
frog-faced, or just splendidly
beautiful? Did she dress
clumsy in ash-stained rags
or the richest silks, or simply
in cotton? But it seems she
still snared her share of would
be admirers: her classicism,
those clean white marble
images, professions of dying
and undying love; rhythms
and rhymes: she had it all.
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