With lingering love she gazed at the dispersed <br />Colors of dusk. It pleased her utterly <br />To lose herself in the complex melody <br />Or in the cunous life to be found in verse. <br />lt was not the primal red but rather grays <br />That spun the fine thread of her destiny, <br />For the nicest distinctions and all spent <br />In waverings, ambiguities, delays. <br />Lacking the nerve to tread this treacherous <br />Labyrinth, she looked in on, whom without, <br />The shapes, the turbulence, the striving rout, <br />(Like the other lady of the looking glass.) <br />The gods that dwell too far away for prayer <br />Abandoned her to the final tiger, Fire.<br /><br />Jorge Luis Borges<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/susana-soca/
