Eyes, that are the frail’st and softest things,
Who shut their coward gates on atomies.

– Phebe, “As You Like It”


Saint Lucy

Her eyes were like the summer sea, they said,
  Or like the winter ice that sheets the ground.
  One claimed the autumn sky; another found
The hue as gentle as a violet's head.

At first, when but a girl, she blushed and smiled
  And then she merely blushed and paid no heed
  To avaricious eyes that dripped with greed
And with each glance her purity defiled.

As she grew wise the words began to burn
  And bite like little whips upon her flesh.
  She felt their glances strengthen, twine like mesh
And snare her till she could not twist to turn.

So when the last one’s eyes upon her cast
  Familiar glances, she was all too glad
  To pluck and give to him all that she had,
And be rid of the cursèd things at last.


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A snapshot of me (Romy)

Hi. I’m Romy. without-feathers.com is my personal site, where I blog and review things and make lists and write bad poetry and do whatever other silly things come to mind. If this sounds like fun to you, it’s probably time to take your meds. But first, stick around and surf my site a little.

I hope you have as much fun exploring this site as I have making it. :)


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