Pandora

The elegance of

Aerial beasts,

Gliding ’round the

Silent morning.

Wings cut through

The crisp air;

Silent grace is

The beauty to behold.

The sleight of hand,

A gentle move,

Downward spiral is the course.

Upon landing,

The creature calm,

Purity still holds.

But, alas,

Beauty flees, once

Sound produced is heard.

The creature croaks,

A loud guffaw,

A shrill knife to the ear.

The thing once pure

Looks deep within.

Black eyes, like

decay, are seen.

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