Miracle Woman Miracle Woman
I wish I could run straight up a flagpole.
I would stand on the top, on one foot.
My other foot at a ninety degree angle,
People would ask, “Is that a statue?”
I would look wee, tiny, petite, way up there.
The wind would try to knock me to the ground.
I would pirouette and taunt the wind.
Teasing him, but not allowing him any power over me.
When I return to the ground, people would ask for an autograph.
I would refuse to give them one, keeping on my dark glasses.
They would chant my name, calling me “miracle woman”.
It would be terrific!
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