Okay, this is not usually my cup of tea, but I figured a non-met version deserves a glance too. Forgive me if I've breached the rules.
She’s a loud child in a quiet room
stifled with sinister smiles.
She is the cat that climbs the tree
where opportunity flocks.
She is the horse that plows the field
plodding a course to the clover.
She’s the old jeans you can’t throw away
pleasantly riding your ass.
She is the threading of a needle.
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