INDIAN FLOWER
Naiveté and innocence interweave
beneath her dark exterior.
And she continues to relate to me the woes of her friends.
Doesn’t she realize how beautiful she is?
Long, thick black hair caresses her lithe, athlete’s form.
Pure clear brown eyes pierce my mind
and something in me cringes.
She must see right through my false identities,
yet she continues her idle chatter of nothing in particular.
How could this child have been raised so unaware
of her own elegant beauty?
To tell her might be to spoil her attractive modesty.
She looks down and lowers her eyelids frequently.
She does not take compliments easily.
Shyness becomes her.
Sweet lady, she is always being asked to speak up and fears her soft voice to be one of the countless faults she curses herself with.
I’ll stay with her for now, be her friend for a short period more, but she will outgrow me.
Soon; I feel it
She will come into her own.
But I’ll always remember her as she is now: unspoiled, without conceit, shy and beautiful.
beneath her dark exterior.
And she continues to relate to me the woes of her friends.
Doesn’t she realize how beautiful she is?
Long, thick black hair caresses her lithe, athlete’s form.
Pure clear brown eyes pierce my mind
and something in me cringes.
She must see right through my false identities,
yet she continues her idle chatter of nothing in particular.
How could this child have been raised so unaware
of her own elegant beauty?
To tell her might be to spoil her attractive modesty.
She looks down and lowers her eyelids frequently.
She does not take compliments easily.
Shyness becomes her.
Sweet lady, she is always being asked to speak up and fears her soft voice to be one of the countless faults she curses herself with.
I’ll stay with her for now, be her friend for a short period more, but she will outgrow me.
Soon; I feel it
She will come into her own.
But I’ll always remember her as she is now: unspoiled, without conceit, shy and beautiful.
Written in 1975 Copyright © Catherine G. Tripp
