If you could paint her, she'd be a Picasso.
|
She's got a few things out of place.
|
Like when she smiles, it's slightly out of line.
|
It's half awkward, yet half grace.
|
While you're unraveling this mystery
|
Of where she fits in time and space,
|
She'll drag you into this lover's tale,
|
Though she will not give a reason.
|
And if you fight her tooth and nail,
|
She won't give up until you lose...
|
|
She wants the last word, the last dance.
|
She thinks it's absurd that you believe in second chances.
|
You're a lost cause, yet here she is.
|
And that's the mystery. Here she is...
|
|
She's a poem by Ferlinghetti.
|
She's the angel from a nursery rhyme
|
She'll set you a place at your table,
|
Then fill your cup till you're drunk on red wine.
|
|
She don't believe in stars or in miracles,
|
But she reads your horoscope daily.
|
And if your response is too cynical,
|
She'll say, "Who are you to know?"
|
While you're unraveling this mystery
|
Of where she fits in time and space,
|
She'll memorize your history
|
And decorate your place.
|
|
-----------------
|
Here She Is
|
Ellis Paul |