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Oh thy beauty speaks of thy artisan, 
Your colors shine bright and clear, 
I long to hold you close, 
And call you my dear. 
Your sweet sculpture speaks sonnets, 
Your curvature rings true bell bonnets 
Did someone craft you out of clay? 
To what sweet goddess, did your artist pray? 
Or were you molded out of plastic? 
Sculpted by Mattel to be fantastic. 
Were you spun with silk, 
With creamy skin like the freshest milk? 
Perhaps you were crafted out of light, 
For your constellation always shines bright. 
Oh your legs are long, for you are tall, 
A dangerous cliff, from which men do fall. 
Oh Hephaestos made your hair of golden fire, 
To spark within young men, the burning desire. 
From Aphrodite you received your charm, 
With which to foolish men, you do harm. 
Oh Hera did teach you well, 
Lucky will be he, who shares your blessed bell. 
Perhaps if not crafted, then you were painted, 
Of the purest colors only, never with tainted. 
Oh sing ye sweet muses the words with which to woo, 
And give me the strength with which suitors to shoo. 
And if I fail, and we must live apart, 
Then send quick the furies to tear me apart. 
Spare me not mercy, and swiftly strike me down, 
But send me sweetly to see Lord Hades’ crown. 

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