In a slight bout of lunacy
(Those bouts all sane people get)
A woman’s ramblings echo through the trees
Powerful enough to invoke the turning of heads
To demand of us our gaze and undivided attention
Curiously I turned in her direction
I saw her cement-colored curls
Blowing wild in the wind
They tell a story of years of experience
They run free.
Freer than a psychedelic fiend
In a midst of a revelation
Freer than a kamikaze pilot
In the midst of his fall.
With charged ambition,
She fled the scene
She had decided she had enough.
Hurriedly but straying,
A man begs to no avail
Too flawed in his step,
With less resonance in his speech,
He is merely a disciple
He does not have the grace
The pace or the melody
And so even from the start
We all knew that he could never win back the lady with the tiger heart.
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