‘Painted Lady passing by,
Just a social butterfly.’
So they say, all unaware,
For their opinions, you don’t care
Is life just a pleasant hour
While you flit from flower to flower,
Turning hours to tranquil days,
Basking in the summer rays?
Is it impolite to ask
If this paint is just a mask?
Do you hide, with raffish flare,
All the burdens that you bear?
