poetry critical

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She walked with dignity.
Climbing those stairs.
No hint of fragility.
Nor trembling airs.
She did not look back.
Why? She knew I followed.
She was endowed with the knack
Of Helen. Borrowed.
She continued to lead.
I hastened to keep pace.
She was my new creed
I had yet to see her face.
A glimpse was all I caught,
The closing door brought all. . . To naught.

21 Dec 08

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Creepily enjoyable. I don't know about the title, I think it should give some indication of the direct intention of the writer, but maybe the intention was unknown and hence actually is an indication. I like it though.
 — TCooks