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The Shepherd Girl

The incense lifted into the dark and stormy night and the fire
burned under the tent where the Monks counted the rosary
to get rid of their worldly desires and once again be reborn.
Minutes turned into hours and their faith remained awake
while their ghostly desires whispered and taunted in iced
hushes that shivered them and turned the candles wild.
The darkness turned into a misty apparition that iced
their resolve and cold sweaty hands held the rosary,
chants and prayers crawled to a stop as the fire
died and the human desires unrelentingly awaken
the images of a warm bed and food were reborn
along the taunting laugh of the shepherd girl: free and wild.
She with her milky body that danced on top of the iced
grasses outside the monastery as the Sun set her in fire
and accentuated her naked figure and turned her wild
blond hair into a hallow of light, the Virgin Mary reborn.
Hard under their tunics the Monks held on to their rosaries,
transpiring they climbed to their beds with their hearts awaken.
Sunday’s flea-market arrived and there she was with her iced
blue eyes and angelical smile that calmed the most wild
of man, as the haggling took place and her counteroffers fired
at the souls of the drunk and foolish men that stared at her awaken
womanhood: her tight dress that contoured her hard nipples like rosaries
beads they stood erect and small. She was an Angelic creature reborn.
Monks led their donkeys among the rising aroma pigs turning in the fire
and the unison chants of the merchants selling their wares wildly.
Street dogs pissed and fornicated under the wooden stalls that sold iced
mugs of beer and rum, and the shepherd girl sat there in the lap of an awaken
fat patron that was toothless and loud as he licked her white neck and reborn
with fury the monks launched at the drunk bastard with their big rosaries.

The fight was over as soon as the toothless drunk fell and the rosaries’
beads flew all over the place. She smiled and kissed each of them with her iced
lips that penetrated their souls, and stirred their worldly desires like a fire
rekindled she led them and they followed like sheep caught in the jaws of a wild
wolf. The Monks followed her to their doom in the church’s basement they awaken
their desires and the harvested wine flew free into the naked bodies of the Reborn.
She took them to ecstasy with her echoing laugh that stunned them like an iced
sheet and she slid over it. Slim and skilled she pleased her saviors and her wild
hair bounced back and forth. The wine kept flowing like the river until the fire
came and laughs turned to tears and screams as it spread like a devil reborn
it encircled them. Trapped they fought, and she was left forgotten like the rosaries
that burned with the forgotten bows and promises. Kneelt their faith re-awaken.
The morning came and their back ached as the sun rays blinded their iced eyes
their rosaries stuck between their fingers as the images of her wild hair remained in their minds.
The ashes of the passionate fire would never die in their hearts, but now they were reborn into
the creatures that the lord wanted awaken with the faith to pray for her soul.