Nadia

More than any man, love brings her relief, like a river swells the dam, inflated or in despair, can cry when she pleases, mostly on the stairs, but none of its an omen, compared to that other disease, iron framed tantrums, when she stands and swears, she'll never release, the new peace inside her, gathered in a doll's pram, all she needs for leaving, made spledid by her elan, it's a a quiet affair, Spring’s great feasting, she’ll settle for that here, happy in her creed.