She tries so hard, for it must be perfect,
Applying her make-up to enhance her age.
The dress is right, for tonight must be different,
A whole new chapter, not just a turn of a page.

Obsessed with her image, the delusional girl seeks to find…
Her heart’s match— She’s no flower’s keeper.
A strand of her hair hangs down, covering one eye,
Will she find him? Or just another to wound her deeper.

With her mascara set, she smiles into her little mirror.
Almost done— As she packs up her aids.
Lips lightly gloss, her posture keen…
She steps out of the train, but into the crowd she fades.