You see her, coming out of the swinging doors;
Wearing blue shoes, stepping eagerly evermore;
The sight of her, gallore may be;
Her head spun high, hunongous hat set free;
Her apron, still wrapped around her waste;
She is hurried, always in a fast paste;
She spins hastily, through the crowd;
With all of her energies, glorious pride;
Her blouse faded from wear and time;
Splendour cleanliness, no need to sigh;
One skirt of plaid, pleated and ironed;
Bounces about her steps, a unique pattern;
Her glasses, she wears, on the tip of her nose;
Her hair fleeting the wind, attached by a rose;
She has distinction, in about her way;
She hurries straightly without a say;
She is woman of poise and confidence;
Within her heart, strong blood affluent;
You would love to meet her, inquisitive mind;
But she walks too fastly, nor tilting, nor time;
Who is this woman of purpose and strength so supple?
She is moving too fast, yet in awe so beautiful;
She is far gone now, in the far distance;
You've lost sight of her, your heart reminiscent!