on some nights

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Always was indecisive The timid girl under that shield. After some nights, or some swelling summer afternoons, She'd saunter about the worst of parts, Yet still amorous in her world, Plucking rose buds for empty bottles. Had they ever been conscious of her day fancies, Perhaps, in minutes, it could be understood, Her peculiar ways of speech and stride. Always was indecisive The timid girl under that shield. After some nights, or some swelling summer afternoons, She'd saunter about the worst of parts, Yet still amorous in her world, Plucking rose buds for empty bottles. Had they ever been conscious of her day fancies, Perhaps, in minutes, it could be understood, Her peculiar ways of speech and stride. How she glanced sideways, Into some other dimensions it seemed. Wasn't until night that she lived, Under some incognito, And others' attire. It would be a simple game that took her away, But she'd have to point, And hesitate, Then wait again. For a pretty word, and his curious plans, May be she could stay. Rendered her powerless, into a struggle, Leaving no refuge. Some other would surely come, she thought, Still tied, nothing as results… The fugitive from the box had kept her alive, Through liver torture days, ound to rocks with metal. Mosses on the cliffs, All cried out since the fortnight; The last thing she wished to be Was her own savior.

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