Anna

Her manner never cool, many a life she’d shout, has been unlistened to, crashing like the sea, an artist on the lookout, she’s still pretty green, doesn’t need a muse, creates what's all about, won't suffer fools, she walks down the street, give you anything she has, throws anyone her keys, lipstick lemon blue, her skin golden brown, hasn't been to art school, instead a loving need, those who haven't got, brings a sense of ease, provides our daily laughs, smiles as warm as toast, will always want to ask, how is your soul?