By Rose Mary Boehm
She met him on the way to Sunday school,
his hair unruly and his shoes untied,
fresh face of a boy, eyes of the man who’ll
never give in, nor bend, neither abide
by any rules. He was not of her kind.
Instead of heeding the old pastor’s voice
his wicked eyes danced in Eliza’s mind.
That look gave her no choice.
With the sweetest frisson she decided
she’d be the beauty who’d tame the beast.
Princess and Cowherd would be united
until death do us part, blessed by a priest.
He would one day wear pearl-button shirts,
and she’d dance for him in red silken skirts.
Copyright Boehm 2023