Caught in bright sun, her face shows every line
Which kinder winter light would soften, hide.
Her cheeks are flushed with laughter or with wine.
You do not see the shining girl inside,
Lovely, immortal, and untouched by age,
The one whose brilliant dreams have never died.
You do not see that, prowling in the cage
Of flesh that sags and bones that ache at night,
The tigress is yet glorious in her rage.
Revere her beauty still, and fear her bite.
Note: the prompt was to write a poem in terza rima, a form which consists of three-line stanzas, with a “chained” rhyme scheme, and a final line (or pair of lines) which rhymes with the middle line of the preceding stanza.