She Does Not Walk in Beauty Like the Night

[Ghost]

She Does not Walk in Beauty

She walks in beauty like the night..."--Lord Byron


She does not walk in beauty like the night,
but rather beauty moves within her like the light
that walks the "cloudless climes and starry" height,
and like her touch, warms the darkness, makes morning bright.

Perhaps too comely 'bout the hip and thigh,
with too much skin displayed to try and catch an eye,
too much lust in her pants and moans and sigh,
to be that prim and prudish "angel from on high."

(O, Reader, know:

She keeps a Heaven slick and warm and tight
that she invites you to come worship, acolyte;
her communion on your tongue-- do her rite
and know rapture when Heaven and the flesh unite!)

Yet she is still what's best of what is dark and bright:
as graced at dusk as when the sun's at height;
she walks both day and night like beauty's only light--
she does not walk in beauty like the night.

[dadio]

A good spin on the Byron poem to create a new poem.