To recline in that rod iron bench,
head tilted back as though to lean against the golden starlet flower.
Green eyes that emit a pale gaze
of freedom, motionless and grandeur.
There is nothing more in this world
to be worried about. Except,
for the occasional bird that prances around
oblivious to the dame’s stare from solitude.
Who does she belong to?
She belongs to no one.
No one, but all who live in the neighbourhood.
Passing each day, waking early in the morning,
playing with the children who play with her,
in the golden sunsets of the day.