Walking all with there own personality's you'll see.
If you choose to let your eyes wander, Let your mind free to muse,
You will see much more than with a ready eye.
Walking down withered steps ahead,
A young lady struts with certainty.
With champagne in one hand,
And a brilliant white rose in the other.
Now it's my time to wonder.
Is it received as a beautiful gift?
Taken from a dutiful prince?
Or given as an obligatory gift, that she knew she would be given.
Perhaps it is yet to be given,
Yet she is sure she won't be rejected.
The scene is beautiful.
Withered steps, trodden grass, antique buildings.
A new scene, yet very similar.
A woman stands to the side, her aura can only be defined with happiness.
Her hair in a tight bun, her legs are strong, the figure of a ballerina.
In one hand she holds a crimson bag.
In the other she holds a red rose.
So many ideas and thoughts of her I can compose.
Was it taken from after a ballet?
Was she showered in them as she stood on stage?
Is it a personal gift from a loved one?
And was the gift for congratulations, or something with a hint of romance?
This scene is a classic.
A crowded metro, yet there she stands.
With pride, dignity, and a purpose in life.
Curious what other scenes I'll stumble upon.