The crowd smells of sweet perfumes
earthy , musky and all together lovely
She sits alone on the caravan
Raven locks corse and wavy
She dreams of castles and princes
all unlikely candidates
her legs are tired , her spirit even more so
her toes worn to the bones
Her arms frail and laced with trinkets
A bandit they called her
A theif of the heart
Town to town too long ago
She played a mistress to coy
Men once crawled to her feet
Those days have past along
The exotic vanity overpowered all they're desires
She lay back on the Caravan
To whistle a song
Her eyes to close her soul to once again be free .
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