The Knock-out Brunette
In a fur coat she lounges,
the politics of luxury goods bore her.
She cares nothing for campaigners,
Unless they all adore her.
She sashays across her garden,
Manicured and perfectly trimmed,
Just like her body
Perfect and slimmed.
She picks at some seeds
and a few nuts to stay healthy.
Sophisticated and smart,
Intelligent and wealthy.
Her eyes are wide almonds,
Faultless and pure.
She sighs as she nibbles,
Shies away, so demure.
A brunette so intense
in colour and in thought,
that all who see her
halt longing, distraught.
She knows you are watching,
She smiles with white teeth
And she pretends not to know you
Peeking from a large leaf.
For Harriet is a Brunette,
not grey, black or red.
And Harriet is knock-out,
As onto the shed
She leaps and she tumbles
Somersaults and glides.
A gymnast without stumbles.
Harriet the squirrel, the trapeze artist extraordinaire
Leaps from washing line to branch with never a care.
Linda Prince
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