A follow up to my last question:
Is the wordiness and choppiness gone?
Would it still be odd to give this to a friend for her birthday?
Lilies of white,
plaited on emerald blades of life.
Pillars threaded through a canopy of oak,
like strings of warm light.
Beauty, painted with puffs of air,
and spun into stained glass wings:
a masterpiece, which kissed the strings with
flickering shadows.
Like a Cherub, she glid,
dancing to the lilies' praise:
"Blessed beauty, young butterfly,
sweet angel of the wind!
Dear Melissa, sweet butterfly,
all splendour from within!"
Pleasant harmony,
beaded on strings of poetic dance.
A stanza in motion:
flowing, swirling, bubbling.
A beauty of wings,
cherished by lilies of white.
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