Her hair perfectly placed
reaches the center of her...

Once Strong and proud it stood like
a mountain, beautiful and serene...

She ran her slender fingers
against the wall, feeling the moisture...

He sits there on the corner street
saxophone case open...

The room was that of pastels tainted
with the shimmer of iridescent whites...

The rusty barrel sits in the alley way
orange that glows from inside it...

He took her hand
and she appeared to...

In 1893 in a quite little Inn
slept soundly a peaceful little girl...

Something strange is going on,
the villagers do say...

In my profile
is a sweet image...

A petite old women lived in
the country alone...

A few years went by and finally
a buyer...