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Yours . . . aye, yours,
Straight run and muscled spring,
Soft on padded paws, sheathed claws,
Weapons rested for their need,
Stained not by frivolous blood
Or murderous deceit.
Face to face, my mirror;
Reflection in a still pool by light.
Would that I might keep that image
Upon this face mine own.
Would that I might keep that heart
Within my breast untainted.
Hold tight to the proud honor of your spirit,
And hold tight to my side,
My dearest friend.
These are a few of my favorite places to visit:
This site was updated on January 17, 1999 by Ray Vinciguerro