The Life of the Party

‘Twas the light in her eye,
And the spring in her step.
The way she tilted her head just so,
And flirted with all she met.

‘Twas the sound of her voice,
And the grip of her tales.
The way she threw back her head and laughed
At the group she so regaled.

‘Twas the outrageous jokes,
And the quaint anecdotes.
The way she drank beer like a man, kissed strangers
And smoked.

‘Twas the way she could capture a roomful of us,
And the way she could hold us in thrall.
The stories she told and the games that she played,
Yet still be the belle of the ball.

‘Twas the red of her lips,
So sarcastic sometimes.
The green of her eye,
No queen, jealousy.

‘Twas the glint of her smile,
And her wildness alone.
And the fact that despite all our loud, bold remarks,
It was never the same with her gone.