Dark copper locks falling over her face,
Her seraphim beauty in this hell is out of place;
Her clothing torn to shreds, like broken wings,
Hangs limply on her frail form while she sings.

Clutching a cool green stone to her chest,
Only token that reminds her of her quest,
The one to seek something better, like before,
When she was loved and tenderly cared for.

Jade, Jade. She speaks to her pretty stone,
So like her, cold, hard and left all alone,
Tear-shaped, scarred with red and white,
But green like her own eyes in the light.

The gift she holds in her delicate white palm,
From one whom now rests eternally calm,
Though he swore she'd never be alone and cold,
Is her only companion, the only to keep her bold.

The green stone she showers with tears,
Fights to chase away her woes, spleen and fears,
And over the years she lives only with a fantasy,
An imaginary friend portrayed by a green pixie.

But now it's over, she falls lifeless into the snow,
Her head drops, breathless, she's ready to go.
The jade stone is taken away as it falls beside her,
And she's left alone, in death as in life, forever.

AN: Oh dear.the three last poems are kinda on the same theme.anyway, no
matter, I like this well enough. OK, so now you might think I've an
obsession with green and jade. I don't, but I do have a bit of an obsession
with Absinthe because of all the poetry it inspired and I have a green jade
stone that is my own source of inspiration. Toodles.