Moods conspire in visions
Floor length gowns and dripping jewels
Or handmaid shift with a smudge of grit
For a life hard lived,
Dressed in thoughts of uniforms pressed
Immaculate and shining
Or a simple gingham dress
To pin the laundry to the line.
It could be anyone
Only imagination keeps alive
This self standing here lonely in a distant room
A wallflower waiting to be dressed,
To become anyone.
Faceless she waits for hands to trace,
To measure length and cut
Sewing her costume for the ball
That she will never see,
Turned this way and that
Like a lovers dance with her creator,
Does she dream of tomorrow
Of robes and finery
As she stands naked
For the beauty to become her.