Holly

A strange need to please her, the sound of a removal van, it forgives all nerves, her offering is a tune, who could fault her tan, every song sings of ruin, she rides without care, the bars are full of men, turns her face to fares, ships blow their hooters, she glides with elan, passed sea green schooners, and barefoot prays to share, with loving countenance, gentle as the air, that laughing dare, not given by chance, certain eyes flash beware, she's coming around.