Ophelia Poem by Andrea Lynn

She looks at me indifferent
With blue eyes just like mine
But her lips have probably only touched
The most fair of fairest wines

Her name is that of a flower
Which her beauty does surpass
Her hands and face so fragile
they may be made of glass

Her hair red to match her temper
Her dress white against fair skin
Everything around her
Wishing they were the wind

To blow her fiery hair
to touch her powdered cheek
For this one Ophelia
Many men are weak.