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I drew your picture
once, a masterpiece of caricature-
a Grecian god stood on
a fiery chariot; sapphires glittered 
on your fingers and in
your eyes and the sun 
rose and sank at 
your command. butÉnow
the wax is peeling off
the paper, and underneath
is a photograph-
I canŐt help but still think 
the sun flames in your hand; 
I still see the fire in your eyes.