Do we deserve?

How would you know?

When her lips meet a curve?

From bitter to broke
She reminds herself firm
To coddle her none
For fate be the cure

A riddle too special
One rare without words

She lolls deep in a garden
With a face that’s still hers

She’s begging a stranger
“May I be demure?”

Her face turns to a gemstone
While the wind sings
“May you always be pure”