She walks with a flowing grace of God,
Wearing every piece of jewelry she owns,
A moth eaten dress from the 20's of 1900,
Long brittle nails, that can tear open skin.
She talks as if tomorrow was never to come,
Using words I've never even heard of before,
A tone she speaks naturally, so elegant and fragile,
But it's the sweetness that draws you to her being.
She is the middle aged lady in a frizzy red dress,
That sits in her window everyday and every night,
Reading books that aren't even sold in book stores,
With a wine glass halfway filled with sparkling water.
She is out-casted, but apart of her own community,
Going to picnics- sitting in the back with her pretty hat,
Relaxing, laying in the sun to tan her pale white skin,
Closing her eyes, still being the lady in red.
