Drowsy after a morning with the old masters
And a late lunch of fat crepes and flat, cold cider,
She lingers in the public park, where disasters
Conveniently stay away, and she can nap and bide her
Time until dusk pushes her from her usual bench,
And she reenters the world with a violent wrench,
And—brave, lonely old woman—doesn’t even flinch.
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