Untitled
by Ian Lundgren

She holds a wild flower
designs a tall tower
and feigns to no power

She seeks a pulpit
from behind a spy-slit.
and wonders how she got it.

She wonders about the past
That will always last
and never notices time is fast.

She spins 'round
barely touching the ground
and stumbles on profound.

She dances his way
with nothing really to say
and only broken pieces to pay.