It's her most precious possession
Bordering on obsession,
It fills her with pride
As she walks she seems to glide
As if on a bed of sunrise
It goes with her every guise,
A bare essential
It causes her joy exponential,
And with a snap of her fingers
You'd think a flash mob of singers
Would appear to convey
How this is her way,
The little things that make her
Like a tiger is known for its fur
But it may as well be her lure;
Example of what she could procure
From the very nothing of blue
A flower; a necklace; a shoe,
Extraordinary trimmings
Assortment of playthings
To make wonder and inquisition of her,
But you should know for sure
You'll never be for her this,
A thing of cool; a thing of bliss...
© okpoet