She Walks Upon Feathers... Poem by Aimee Woolford

She walks as upon feathers,
Her stance of a bird; And I,
The unwitting weasel,
Never to be at her high-flying level.
Light on her feet, barely making a sound,
Whilst I, the herd of noise awakens her;
Bringing her gaze to the
Never silent grace of her admirer.
She glides as if upon ice;
Her poise as of a dance,
Whilst I, the clumsy fool,
Struggles to keep up a stance.
Her eyes of the diamond,
Glaze over the eager crowds;
And they search with a passion
For a man ever bowed.
And only then will they be satisfied,
With an unforgettable joy,
And only then will I realise that;
To her I am just a boy.