The Trophy and the Cherub
She always was his trophy
The Perfect Man's match
With manners to perfection
Haute couture and a hat.
All was on schedule
Each day of the week
She knew when to smile
She knew when to speak.
She knew when to lie down
And make a mind's list
As he motioned three times
To fill his passion's wish.
Until one day one younger
Entered his mind
And he abandoned his trophy
All alone, left behind
"I don't want to go home"
Was all that she said
And she wrote down her dreams
To a cherub instead.
The cherub nourished her dreams
And inspired her to care
Smiled upon her with rosy cheeks
And curly hair
In his eyes she found hope
That she never had known
Nevermore would she say
"I don't want to go home".
Copyright © Jane Wainwright | Year Posted 2009
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