Icy Little Blonde

Hitchcock wrote her

She is not for you 

Dante wrote her, 

You will spend your life fruitlessly writing sonnets in her honour

You will never have her

She is not for you 

There is treasure in the maze

But when you get there

The box is empty

The chest deserted

It is not for you 

She promises everything

And delivers nothing

She is not for you

And nor is she for me 

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