To the Twins Mary and Marigold
As like as one we sisters two
for each are constant, loving too …
But we might play, confuse your sight
a mirrored proof that left is right.
So close we're told
our hair of gold
that curls, each face to frame.
As wild as briar's weaving clutch
(its beauty painful to the touch)
whose thorns no hand will tame.
Or we be gentle as the dove
to coo-l each passion through our love.
Will join in joy a double art,
two 'imps' as one, as one in heart.