Battle- Scars

The Young Lady

A lady, fair and sweet

Went downtown for a little treat.

She bit her lip, clouded eyes cast down:

Nervous glances to those around.

Exiting the subway, way past noon

She finally met a scene worth a swoon.

The sun blazed like an inferno; so red

It heated her long ombré mane; "A cloth" Ma had once said

"To never look at a man without: a shirt."

The wind whispered, lightly grazing her long worn skirt.

He happened to look her way, a look she stole,

It was if he glanced at her broken soul.

Her smile put the glaring star to shame

And he knew his demise- she would be to blame.

Time flew by, little did he know

Her eyes never matched her radiating glow.

Like her lace adorned bodice, fitted to be true,

Her outer shell casted nothing of a blue.

He tried to change her, yet slipped

And you should have seen the bat she gripped.