Long ago, in order to either uplift mood or heal ills, they would fall over licks of hippocras.

Presently, whenever cornered by her miffed, crude or fell feels, she frolics through lea’s covered hills of grass. ; )

Squarely holding ground like she would for her slice of a mezzeria,

Mia’s hands vased her floral flag, her rosy rifle, her allay bouquet—

Ready to exert flower power,

Aiming to boom via bloom,

Firing with form of warm.

She would, by the acres, now sow serenity for the achers,

Producing enough peace to be shared with all—known, alone, grown. ; )

Sociogenic stresses

Along with mankind’s messes

Pass along their old yeses

To introversion’s chilled peace—

Where heat and noise come to cease

So heart and poise can take lease. ; )

“Go, go, just go!”

But, she could not leave until she made a choice. Was balzarine obsene? Was silk of her ilk?

He was *so* handsome, but she was not sure *which* Cinderella would merit a happily ever after with him.

Indecisiveness was a wall that was keeping her from the ball, yet that awareness was not dressing her or prompting her out the door.

Then, it hit her like a ton of bricks: “Eeny, meeny, miny, moe! Go, go, go, go!”

Later, as she stepped out of the carriage, he heralded, “Oh, you look like a queen!” Yes, fate had aptly chose for her to walk out in the balzarine. ; )