She removes her clothing,
cradles the naked girl
shielding her from the cold wind’s bite,
offering love of a different kind.
Knowing critics enter an open window,
indifferent to those observing
selfless intent, through dignified silence.
Those detractors who would
shake a pretty flower
into an ugly stem
to place on public display.
The gutless bastards that would
weave an itchy blanket
from the fibers of an ill-spun yarn
to throw over innocence.
She knows they come,
yet gladly hogs the blanket,
offering the damsel a fresh robe,
before standing bare to those
who see beyond the fabric.