Quaker

She hears a strange whisper, the sound of a removal van, asks is it THE sisters !!!, each move the last trip, no one faults her tan, every move tunes her lips, she wears cool linen, the bars are full of men ocean town’s made up of them, they rise like ghost ships, she walks home in step, when sea green evening dips, but barefoot prays within, her dancing done, she'd rather have a someone, rather than the whistle, of another lonely camp, doesn’t care where she’s driven, who gives a damn ?