Fantasia

 

 

The bus came down the dusty street,

In sleepy southern town,

It stopped and opened wide the door,

A Vision touched the ground.

 

The men who sat on benches there,

Became awake and vowed,

This lovely creature now arrived,

Surely came from distant cloud.

 

In high heeled shoes, and with much grace,

Assisted by the hand,

Of smitten driver of the bus,

She came to change their land.

 

Beauty shone upon her face,

The swaying of her hips,

Her eyes were like the stars that shine,

A small smile on her lips.

 

The ladies and the wives were stressed,

At beauty in their midst,

What man could possibly ignore,

Lips that were made for kiss?

 

Like freshest breath of springtime air,

That soon turns to summer’s heat,

The presence of the beauty there,

Kept women on their feet.

 

She took a room in boarding house,

And seldom was she seen,

The mystery that surrounded her,

Achieved an edge so keen.

 

She never spoke a word to those,

Who saw her on the street,

But gave instead, a knowing smile,

That swept men off their feet.

 

The summer dragged, the talk went on,

About the beauty rare,

Who was she, and most of all,

Why was this beauty there?

 

For no one ever knew her,

She never spoke a word,

And seldom was she seen in town,

Her room like nest of bird.

 

The mystery only deepened,

With a legend that was born,

Fantasia as they called her,

Was like a pesky thorn…

 

But in the fall, Fantasia stood,

And waited for the bus,

To carry her away again,

To put an end to fuss.

 

The usual crowd were sitting there,

In front of the drugstore,

Watching with dismay that showed,

When the driver opened up the door.

 

He jump down to the dusty ground,

And offered her his hand,

Fantasia left and took the dream,

That haunted every man.

 

She left exactly like she came,

No sound nor loud fanfare,

But there was plenty that the men,

For years would gladly share.

 

The stories that they had to tell,

Would dominate their talk,

About the vision that they knew,

Fantasia and her walk.

 

©  2004  Loree (Mason) O’Neil 

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