Quick Morrigan sketch. Because I need more Morrigan.
Her smile is a dead language.
A man could search his whole life for the carven slab
That will unlock its secrets.
I alone translated her,
But you would not believe the stories she told,
Or how her laughter once pealed.
Millennia hence, scholars
Will spread her out like cuneiform tablets,
To divine woman from myth.
They’ll say she was a carven slab.
That her prideful cheek commanded, “Look on my
Works, ye mighty, and despair.”
“No, it’s just an idiom,”
I’d shout in every language man ever spoke
Though they wouldn’t hear me anyway.
(with apologies to Percy Bysshe Shelley)