My Lady (Ode To An Extrovert) Poem by Samantha Webb

My Lady doth possess two feet,
But ne'er the twain to earth will meet,
For energy belongs to she,
And that, hath she, abundantly.

She skips, she hops, from foot to foot,
An Irish jig, a tribal step,
And inbetwixt a pirouette,
For time and tide wait not for she.

For she is like a kangaroo;
Bouncing, buffeting marsupial,
Who often likes to play the fool,
So jester like and jovial.

With physicalities aside,
Aswell, she likes to vocalize.
From living room to kitchenette,
Once toe upon the threshold met,
She opens up and starts to sing,
A tuneful song comes from within.

But, what goes up will oft come down,
And sure enough, without a sound,
In goes the thumb to quiet the clown,
And sunflower-like, her head doth hit the feathery down.