Romance,that fiction genre about love,
is frequently the same old yarn re-hashed,
glamour,with its oohs and ahs thereof
which,with careless application, hearts are trashed,
turns heads around so knees and hearts are mush,
the 'think gear' so confused, nothing makes sense.
Dust in the workings makes a good girl blush.
Of niceties, we will (methinks) dispense.
Everyday we read of such great passions,
life glamourized to draw more readers in,
into the mesh of intrigue and of fashions,
a gentleman's love...quite pure; or rife with sin?
Golden phrases sweet with fiction and romance,
haze or cloudless...will the hero trust to chance?
Quote: Carolyn Gold Heilbrun
reading down the left side of the page.
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