she, a fragment of the Gold or a tossing Sunflower, or some roadside Bloom
no one knows who she is or where she comes from
trotting the cobblestoned paths of the Mexican town
she, the harbinger of hope, a breezy sip in the scorching noon
with a basketful of lemons and a jarful of lemonade
she brings respite to every parched soul, to each thirsty nomad.
when despair and mundane thoughts shroud the heart
she refreshes the friable souls with the yellow potion or a tart
her dusky membrane is a facade to her gentle, crystal heart
a Samaritan to the travellers but to the kids, she is their sweetheart
scouring the fields she collects bright and juicy lemons
rejuvenating the worn spirits, inspiring them, though to all she is a question.
some call her “the yellow lady”, some, “the lemon maiden”
but no one knows how this Angel is born from her own ashes, slaying her demon
behind her citrus veil, she hides her bruises and scars
she is a cascade of hope to some and to others the North Star
as tales of her intoxicating tangy fragrance wafts far and wide
her famished heart and yearning eyes hope someday she’d be some Prince Charming’s Bride.
Pic Courtesy: Google