The Secret Girl
by Joan Luther

It was a long lush painting that gave the rotunda room,
With the yellow and golden clusters of fragrant florals,
An uncanny resemblance to the quintessentially quaint village.
More than a dozen roses lay across the Italian tiled table,
Mirroring the image above the uniquely untidy blooms.

Outside, a woman zigzagged past a plethora of others,
Viewing the unearthly painting through the wide window.
She heaved her head away as the suns’ umber rays
Suddenly flared and glared into her unnerved eyes.
An abundance of others nearby watched her surprise.

An old familiar miniature poodle with kind eyes captured
Her attention by the ajar adjacent door of the vanilla villa
As she began blushing by the clinging concurring crowd.
Someone had painted her as a gracious girl at that
Vanilla villa where the boy once chose to offer her a rose.

Her hopes of keeping their forbidden friendship a secret
Were becoming less likely with each gathering gawking
Grim guest. In need of proper privacy, she tacitly turned
To leave the lively scene when someone noticed her
Resemblance to the graceful girl in the prominent painting.

He politely passed through the drawn door of the villa,
To approach her with a yellow rose, quite well composed.
The words that he uttered near her ear zithered through her,
As she gently gathered the unbelievably gentlemanly gesture.
Together again, they crossed through the crowd, no secret now.


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