Saturday, February 4, 2012

Day 35/366

The girl with beautiful eyes,
As a stranger did once tell.
The escapist in the land of words,
Put under the mystic's spell.

The characters were alive for her,
A fairy tale she could lead,
She could be Jack with the beanstalk,
Planting the tiny bean seed.

She was never much of an extrovert,
Though to few she said a lot,
Complying with her notions of good and bad,
But independent in thoughts.

Squinting as her drunk head swirled,
She'd recall some funny memory,
And trip on it till realization dawned
That she was the only one laughing.

A precious few may find one like you,
I am lucky to be one of them.
If we were to ever lose touch or die,
Wouldn't it just be such a shame?

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