She smiled as she never smiled before, <br />A solemn, cold, mean sort of smile. <br />A smile that says, hey look at me, I don’t care. <br />You want a piece of me, well baby I’m here. <br />Come get me, I’m without fear. <br /> <br />She took her stand in the center of the ring, <br />Cased her opponent with a look that could sting. <br />Her radiant form displayed much desire. <br />She was about to put the house on fire. <br /> <br />Back and forth she danced around. <br />Weaving and bobbing, feet barely touching the ground. <br />Her opponent threw a punch, missed for sure. <br />She tried and tried but missed more and more. <br /> <br />Dancing and bobbing, a pretty sight to see. <br />This awesome lady stings like a bee. <br />She takes her stance and moves in for the kill. <br />An upper cut to the jaw, down goes poor Syll. <br /> <br />Syll lays still on the canvas floor. <br />The referee starts the count, one-two-three-four. <br />Syll tries to raise her head, but it’s just too late. <br />The count is over, five-six-seven-eight. <br /> <br />Written: June 20,2007<br /><br />Melvina Germain<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/029-the-count-of-eight-boxing-poem/
