She Drifts About dierama Pulcherrimum (The Fisherman's Wand) Poem by john (called jack) wren

Some in the border are bold and brass
others more subtle like this fair lass
some don't like the wind in their hair
while others just like a stormy affair.

Full of grace when she moves her hand
in a way only Royalty would understand
to direct her orchestra with a wand
a connoisseur, a pure beau monde.

Using her baton like a true devotee
with actions focused as one could be
to conduct a symphony for the wind
leaving her wholly unable to rescind.

She drafts about in pleasing shade
until the lingering shadows fade.