Ö÷²¥´óÐã

One descriptive pro-noun shy.
Although it best befits a quaking child hovering somewhere behind daddy's legs
She shakes
At the thought of penetrating glares, ears twitching at any, every sound
Her cryptic stuttering repetitiveness rolling reluctantly out,
A tremor passing through her as the words fight to bypass her interlocking teeth
She knows because she, you and we have seen it all
Her very whisper detected by the salivating hounding crowds
Snapped up like a crime
And she quakes.

Are they staring at me, what are they all thinking?
- She thinks.
They liken me to Tiberius don't they, or a Germanicus, golden boy, without his tongue to dramatise and quell each mutiny.
For literature alone still finds the way of her speech
And manages the impossible of prising that jaw open.

But that it will, when one spends each moment in one's cacophony
Of a life Past, Present' (Future?)
Submerged in tales, histories and romantic novellas.

She thinks she's scared of people and of speaking and of judgemental minds and of people watching HER and.
I think she's shy

See there, up above us, she sits
Black hair adorned in blossoms on the gilt gold chair
The orange dress hugs her curves
He lips purse - is that a smile forming on there gentle shakes?
Each knows their vote well cast on this girl; whom all thought so modest, pretty and calm

Then tears,

Then quakes.

No accepting Speech.

But tears ' more than May has ever seen, but don't worry!
No one thought that'
No one could have known she didn't'
All regret our votes and love cast upon exquisite unfeeling beauty, pulling the lots for this my fair Shy may queen?