Rosalie fell
Into Lyman’s arms…
Was she swept off her feet,
Or did she stumble
And he just reflexively
Saved her from falling?
She looked up, adoring,
He looked down, heroic,
Far longer than just mere rescue would warrant.
Name’s Lyman, he said,
Mine’s Rosalie.
And, flirty, she asked…
You often catch damsels in distress?
What’s a damsel?
He asked.
And she straightened up quick,
Said, thanks, and strode off,
Thinking how nice it might have been.