I peer into Pandora's jar
to see what fate has left for me,
and when I cast my eyes down far,
a woman do I see.
What sort of creature once did dwell
among the terrors unafraid
whose mighty nature one can tell
bore the shadow and the shade?
She carries roses in her arms.
Her eyes are bright, her aspect fair.
Upon her head she wears a crown
while ribbons tie her golden hair.
I gaze upon her gentle face.
My heart it leaps; My soul it thrills,
for she sets evil in its place
and drives out war and toils and ills.
Who is this strong-winged one inside
who many horrors fiercely braved?
Hope it is that does abide,
And I, oh I, am saved.
—published in Foliate Oak
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