From grace she did indeed fall. Fallen as far as one can go.
Through lies, to protect, she did neglect in saying what she felt.
To this she was dealt sentance. For her acts she carries out her pentance.
She knows it not but she left so many hearts, and minds in knots.
Her simple beauty, her gentle voice, these lead to failed duty.
Thus she punishes herself, tears her wings from her body.
On her brow, she wears the marks of decite.
Such pity do we feel but reasons cloud us, and confuse us still.
Wolf, wolf, does she cry wolf again? Do I have to bargin, dare I respond?
Nay, let it pass, do not suffer anymore harm.
However love her still, and through these actions I continue to help.
At times my need with hers makes one feel as if a whelp.
But love her, love her still, I do.
That little angel who was not perfect till she showed her flaws.