They don't like her, she doesn't talk a lot
When they're busy gossiping, she would rather not
She never calls, she doesn't want to meet
Always silent, and she dances to her own beat
They call her cunning, they say she silently plots
They're wary around her, "This quiet one rots"
What goes on in her mind, they are baffled, they don't know
It gets darker, as they stalk her, the deeper they go
How sad for them, so many better things to do
She would rather be a loner, reading books old and new
She doesn't talk about people, talks to them instead
She is sad around those, who walk the path she dreads
If then they do not like her, she doesn't even care
Busy doing what she loves, she never notices them stare
This quiet one's brain, producing ideas at incredible speed
Not meant for small talk, unpopular but mysterious indeed!
