She was there, but just passing by,
never mind what it is said,
nor what it seems,
if she we're a gypsy but she's not.
Maybe a woman of mysteries and stunning
qualities that delight the eye, but
yet a dwelling tree wont even blink,
nor drop a leaf for her.
She's beautiful as a flying
myth of some fairytale princes with no prince to chose.
Beautiful and charming, but a bleak vissage look that
question her truth.
She's a walking venture to men kind,
but again she's a lament soul,
a lonely heart with meekness eyes,
with a glamorous voice,
and enchanted moves.
Her hair so black that blinds the eye,
she was there passing you by,
you were there blinded by her charms,
her name was Zoe; a beautiful life.