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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