She stood there on the street not too far, as pale as Greek statues stands
Or more like cunning and fierce fire Cleopatra when she turned at bay,
And felt her strength above the savage Roman sway,
So did she stand and did feel the aspic writhing in her hands.
Her face is steadfast toward the shadowy land,
For dim beyond it loomed the light of sinking day;
Her feet are steadfast; all the arduous way
That foot-track hath not wavered on the sand.
She stood there waiting for a bus like a beacon thru the night,
A pale clear beacon where the storm-drift was astonishingly bright
She stood alone, mysterious calm; a wonder deathly white;
She stood there patient, nerved with inner might,
She stood there not unnoticed by passengers and passers by
Her demeanor was compelling; so was her presence and sight
Indomitable in her feebleness, and stature musing and shy
Her face and will athirst against the light.
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