Véronique, Flower Child

She was the kind of woman

men died for:

Eyes so green they led the unwary

down forest paths

until they were utterly lost;

Lips so unnervingly inviting

that to refuse

would have seemed impolite;

And silvery black hair

that shimmered in

candlelight like dancing waves,

bubbling in soft murmurs

around the innocent features

that made men want

to protect her.

Still, there was a sadness

deep inside, a melancholy,

that cautioned Take care

for I have suffered much,

and so they took her gently,

leading her home.

© Nyuka Anaïs Laurent 30.01.2010