I believe "deceitful" is a bit harsh, prone to believe she's "full of herself" with her frosty farthingale draping my mountainside. Belle's of the ball rarely want an affair to end, continue cavorting upon the dance floor desiring all eyes upon them. I enjoyed following her buttermilk skies and mare's tails waltzing across peaks and valleys, smiled as her bare dew-kissed limbs escorted me trailside, welcomed her cool greeting grazing my cheeks each morn.
Yet, appreciation has its limits and mine's been met. An elegant exit is as important as a grand entry and she has flubbed hers, returned for a third encore absent applause. A diva's temper tantrum is never pretty and she's outdone herself. I gently try to prop up a virginal bent beauty, ruby flush yet to fade. Gaze around as other's have followed suit; no match for the wrath of last season's debutante whose flirtatious winks and beguiling smiles have finally grown old. My infatuation a thing of the past.
A graceful exit requires elegant bows - tulips take center stage.
by Margaret Bednar, April 18, 2018