And Yet

AND YET? If one short word could describe Betty, it’s fun Gregarious, though seemingly loaded, falls short You’d have to hear her laugh, Have to see that lovely face blaze in every upward grace The voice is brown sugar, with hope of loving hugs In return Betty can, on a cold, cloudy day, lift the face of any sunflower Can inspire the weary to play She is incredible, and yet? I’ve caught her in a pensive mood In solitude she is even more lovely, and yet? This is not the Betty we know, flock to She’s by the window, but gazes into space, Hand on cheek, arm supporting a downward frozen stare Same auburn hair tied in a bun at back Same petite, protruding ear, delicate nose and mouth Same all alluring, adult woman dressed in mid morning attire, and yet? As though lost in a moment, or bygone moments, she is absent from the flash and hilarity of her other world No getting into that descending, unbending tunnel of inner cogitation Our playmate has gone wandering through fields of joy, want, and regret, and yet? There is no doubt Betty will come out from the hiding wings to a loving life, to play another day on stage Dave Austin