In the midst, of this noisy world,
On one end stands, a pretty girl,
To the wind she adds, her gushing words,
Her lips moves faster, than her curls.
She's active, she's smart, she's cute and deserve,
The praises and bouquets, they all gift her,
Of course this is, the nature of the Earth,
All that matters, is the beauty and words.
Looking deep into, her eyes, I see,
Her pretty smile, is a gift, from her teeth,
To hide the frown in her heart, deep within,
There's also a tear, eagerly waiting, to take the lead.
The empty mind, like a tar street,
Just by the side, of a lonely beach,
I see the waves, growing taller than the trees,
Does she expect the bouquets, just to exists?
With an uncertain thought, I'm sorry to disturb,
The clear mind of yours, that continues to wander,
In the world that says, grow out of old culture,
I agree, it's true, but a bit of culture, still matters.
In the midst, of this noisy world,
On the other end, standing firm to observe,
With sealed lips, a storm cannot disturb,
The busy mind, decided to uncover,
This strange thought, with a rhyme to the world.
-Debra R. N. Ludwick-
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