Rosalie

From her white garden seat, she hangs out a load, time is taken to defeat, feelings like lemons steeped, ravaged lipstick Eau De Cologne, she whispers her secrets, Halloween lovers trick or treat, surrenders perfume soaked, to drink her whisky neat, living by a swollen creek, heaven is her goal, battling granny rolls her sleeves, hanging rifle lifts the sheets, she's no rolling stone, what better cure than ease, whenever wine or beast, isolates her lonely home, plenty are the harvest feasts, Chapel delights her runner beans, there's no public telephone, down these fields of wheat, she's not alone.