The country life has left its mark,
On a city girl with low cut jeans;
Though starched the flannel shirt is not,
Its wide-necked collar invites a breeze.
Her shirt invites a furtive view,
Of gentle curves and silken skin;
But her face a mien of scorn portrays,
And her shoulders hunch as she walks in.
I am confused at which one lies,
Sight pursues but manner flees;
I only know that fancy flies,
And beauty flight of Time bereaves.
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