A Comfortable Girl

A Comfortable Girl
Sophia's nose was always in a book,
buried usually in her book-strewn nook,
a window seat that overlooked her lawn,
where she could rest from working, dream and yawn,
and where one day she sat up with a start,
catching sight of the man who'd gained her heart.

She combed her hair, but still felt like a mess.
She did not have a pressed jumper or dress.
The only jeans she had smelled like her dog.
Her warm-ups were muddy, damp from a jog.

Her love was sincere for this Tom-Cruise twin.
His glowing eyes, dimple, and crooked grin
were only part one of a most winning
guy who made her feel like clinging, hugging,
listening to, laughing at, and cooking for,
and taking a chance on forevermore.
She wanted to paint her nails, wear lace frills,
let herself trust him, hug him, and feel thrills.

She went to him in her doggy-smelling jeans,
not-quite-matching socks, looking seventeen.
"You are the most relaxed woman," he said,
"marry me. With you I feel comforted.
I want you with me on my wedding night.
I want you with me in the morning light.”