her grace defies the brashness of her day,
only hoody tops frame her wildest hair,
her spirit dances in a different way,
unbridled by the world’s constraining stare.
she walks amongst the magpies others count,
her heart a compass pointing north and true,
rejecting paths that thoughtless souls amount,
she traces paths illuminated new.
no fashion grinder or convention claims,
the boundried landscape of her inner fire,
where passion and imagination flames,
surpassing limits of your base desire.
she may not wear a ribboned bonnet,
yet she still has the heart for a soppy sonnet.