Was she just perfect or perfectly flawed?
How would she feel if the truth was ignored
and replaced with a fairytale lady adored even more
than she was in her day.
Would she still sing the same songs in the same key?
Or would she have faded to obscurity
under cloak of suburbia and domesticity
Or would she still shine in the dark?
Who can speak for her, who knew her fears?
A creature of myth, her legend has grown
with the passing of years.
Would she write stories of rivers and dreams?
A world where her words are not quite what they seem where the threads come unravelled and frayed at the seams
Or would she have nothing more to say?
Was she an icon or was she a fraud?
Was it a sign of a mind that was bored with the humdrum of living
And everyday chores
Or was she a goddess made flesh?