She was looking for poetry, she said.
I have some experience with that, I said.
I searched gallantly about
and presented her with trophies.
She looked through them.
Her hair was deep evening red
and her white skin translucent.
She wore a thin summer dress
of light green linen.
Choosing, she walked away,
thanking me for my help.
Never did I see her again,
but now she lives in one of my poems.

  ~mce