Prim

Primrose lived in a beautiful garden oasis, 
Where she spent her life in a kind of stasis--
Weeding her garden and tending her flowers;
On the cobblestone pathways, she would spend hours.
With her emerald green eyes and golden-wheat hair,
Compared to the plain sort of clothes she would wear,
Her striking looks were quite an allure.
What lay under the surface,  one couldn't be sure.
She loved all the beauty surrounding her home, 
But deep down she'd buried a yearning to roam--
To travel, discover, and see brand new places;
To photograph unfamiliar faces.
She longed to strike out on a world-wand'ring whim,
But all those who knew her said, "She's much too prim."
So, year after year, she would garden and trim.
After all, that's what others expected of "Prim."
Then one day an eagle flew by, overhead, 
And dropped a small thing on the top of her head--
A thin piece of fabric, tied up with a bow; 
One word was imprinted--it simply said, "Go."
This sign was so clear that it couldn't be missed.
Primrose started, in earnest, a caretakers list.
Her cousin came quickly to hold down the fort.
Soon Primrose was headed, fast, to the airport. 
As the plane hit the air, Prim laughed out in glee,
For she wasn't as prim as folks thought her to be.

© 2024 Teresa Miles Kephart