Wednesday, November 5, 2014


She peels away the tea-stained print
That shields her eyes from the scary outside
There may be a place for her yet
But she needs to dress accordingly
First she insulates her heart with wads of wool
And pads her ears
A hat and shades ensure identity fades
Now she is ready
For the quiet battle
And no one will flinch
When her canons are fired

No comments:

Post a Comment