A tale of mythical creation
__tells of Galatea, with great beauty,
__chiseled from ivory by Pygmalion,
__given breath of life by Aphrodite.
Never did I profess the least notion
__that you can be less beautiful than she,
__you were made by God, not by Pygmalion,
__not from cold ivory but from warm clay.
No offense, but you might have turned stone,
__for you did not evince sympathy
__to my offer of love and devotion,
__and left me to suffer in penury.
And so I asked God in an orison
__to wake you up from taciturnity,
__so with His true infinite compassion,
__He molded you anew with love for me.
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