"Bubbling up in our own good time-- online."
Groundwaters Publishing, LLC
Volume 6 Issue 2
Page 7
Hope used to call at my house—
Her cheeks and lips glowed pink, her eyelids sparkled blue,
Her skin was smooth and unblemished,
Her nails were tapered and enameled to match her raspberry coat that
swirled around her as she sat daintily on the edge of a chair and
crossed her ankles.
I offered her coffee and butter cookies which she graciously accepted as
she opened her case to show me her wares. She promised me that
the skin toners, the makeup, the lotions, the creams, the jewelry
would enhance my life as much as they had hers. To prove it, she
gave me samples, and we giggled as I tried them, inhaling the scent
of the perfumes, dabbing some on my wrists, tying a colorful scarf—
special this month—around my neck “to bring out the violet in my
eyes.”
After I placed my order for beauty; she graciously accepted my check,
thanked me for the refreshments, and twirled out into the gray world.
Reluctantly I watched her go. The rest of my day would be overcast and
dull, but I knew she would soon return with heavenly smells and
samples, conversation and miracles.
That was years ago when a lone lady dared go door-to-door selling hope,
and I was naïve enough to trust and let her in.
The Avon Lady By Jane Capron
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