Her eyes grated
At my image
As if acid
Had been 
   poured upon her breasts
And rested
   in the fold
      hatred
         mated
With the frazzled
   beast of ignorance

She quaked with
   wild and eager
      wanderlust
         that dazzled
In the pool
   of petulance

Perhaps it's time
   for freedom
      to be wrested
From her parents
Grown so dim
By age and
   putrid
      eminence
And ride the sky
And mists of green
With hope for goals unknown
And penitence unseen

(c) 1996 James Oliver Smith, Jr