She's Facing Me

This is the first poem featured in She's Facing Me.  If it seems a little arrogant at times, remember that I wrote this in high school.

The Scribe

There was a young lady named Kristy

Whose eyes were always grey and misty

She was a scribe who scribbled her life

Down on paper with blood and knife

She loved to sit by the light of the day

And go about her work in her own way

And woe to he who challenged this girl

For her wrath would send him for a whirl

And although she tried to be courteous to all

Others loved to laugh and make her fall

To buy a horse she had no money

So she walked on foot singing “Honey”

She had a special pen with which she would mark

Words that came to her in the dark

Of the night, so when she would awaken

In her hand that pen would be taken

To her writing paper where it worked a charm

To all who read it the tale would raise alarm

For no one had ever expected her to write such

Wonderful things.  They had not expected that much

To come from the orphaned girl from Four Oaks

Who wrapped herself in coats and cloaks

She wore black boots made of leather

So that if rain should be in the weather

Her feet would not mire down or get wet

She was usually prepared, that’s a sure bet!

She looked upon others as strange, unordinary

Because they said that she was less than extraordinary

She did not believe them, nor to their words would listen

For she had a world on paper, where she would forever glisten