Just when I think I've got her nail'd after Sonnet 27

Just when I think I've got this "Miho" nail'd
By the little quirks that form her person,
She (in Fred's next strip) shows I've utter fail'd
To know her, despite all my immersin'.
Is she truly bad? Or good? Or rather,
Like that most ancient symbol of the East,
A bit of both, and both in each other?
She is all a woman, no part a beast;
She is human, her weakness to obscure;
Simple she is not, and is less so each day;
What else she is, I grow each day less sure.
I dare not miss a strip: I might delay
New understanding of this Lady dark,
And miss a new twist to this story arc.

(Apologies to William Shakespeare)

Sonnet 27

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,
The dear repose for limbs with travail tired,
But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body's work's expired.
For then my thoughts from far where I abide
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide,
Looking on darkness which the blind do see.
Save that my soul's imaginary sight
Presents their shadow to my sightless view,
Which like a jewel hung in ghastly night
Makes black night beautious, and her old face new.
Lo, thus by day my limbs, by night my mind,
For thee, and for my self, no quiet find.

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