by lonewolfpoetry

A Pure Woman, cheated and left. Faithful

to her core. Her chaste promise corrupted.

Rosy of cheek, pure of skin, lips blossomed,

Wessex Eve sent like a lamb to her fate

by kin who professed tender love for her.

Gentle Tess, soft cheeks, rough labouring hands,

her Angel was but a flawed guardian

and failed to protect his loyal lone flock.

Only in Sorrow did Tess find her truth,

a doomed boy in a marmalade coffin.

A rural girl, dairy maid abandoned,

discarded at that lonely Flintcomb-Ash.

A pure woman sullied, cream turned crimson,

forsaken, innocence was her downfall.

Sweet Tess, alone on a cool stone altar.