This is just a light-hearted poem I wrote a couple of years ago. It actually took me almost two years to finish. And no, I don't really have a cousin named Alexandra.

Upon that day so deep in spring,
Grandmother instructed me to bring
Myself and sister up for tea,
To greet her well-bred company:
Our cousin Alexandra.

One who, despite her stately air,
Oft' preferred a foreign flair
And few, if any, understood
Her sort of whimsical girlhood,
Fair cousin Alexandra.

And so it was, upon that day,
Sister and I walked up the way
In proper gowns of decent cut,
(Respectable and nothing but!)
To welcome Alexandra.

We reached the place and went within
To welcome this, our well-born kin,
The one we always heard about,
Whose properness was oft' in doubt:
Our cousin Alexandra.

Into the Garden Room we went,
By our dear Grandmother sent;
Ordered to make greatest haste,
Lest one minute we should waste
In meeting Alexandra.

So in the Garden Room sat we,
Anxious this, our kin, to see.
What a surprise! When she appeared,
Laughing, greeted us, and neared,
And said "I'm Alexandra!"

Her dress reflected tropic style
('Haps purchased on some Asian isle).
Her sun-browned arms the dress left bare,
As she tossed her unbound golden hair.
How bold was Alexandra!

Expecting nothing less than odd,
Sister and I exchanged a nod
As if to say "We knew 'twas so,"
For who has lived that does not know
About our Alexandra?

With greetings made and names exchanged,
The conversation's subject ranged
From tales we'd heard of friends and foes
To Grandmother's famed garden rose,
With cousin Alexandra.

Then, upon Grandmother's bid,
She opened the piano lid.
With fingers light upon the keys
She played Beethoven's Eloise,
The gifted Alexandra.

She ended with a little pause,
Accompanied by our applause.
A curtsey was expected now,
Instead she took a sweeping bow.
What nerve had Alexandra!

The day went on. When even' came,
I found myself not quite the same.
In place of my indignant fire,
I found that, rather, I admired
This creature, Alexandra.

Accepting neither style nor trend,
Refusing, with the world, to blend,
Sallied forth, her life her own,
And yet, for all her troubles, known
As the rebel, Alexandra.

So if, some day, you see us out
In the village square (or thereabout)
And ask me privately, "Who's she?"
Then I will proudly answer thee:
My cousin, Alexandra!