Two Women at a Window, ca.1670
It's another mild day and the sky glows white
The air is still and cool as the midday light
Admirers giggle, perhaps at a young caller
One hunches over, the other stands taller
They don't look wealthy, yet they don't look poor
Perhaps trusted servants, but what can't they ignore?
They've taken jolly notice, as if on a whim
Of a miming youth who should be pruning a limb
Posted at the window the younger one peers
At this croaking lad, flattered by what she hears
Hunching near the potato patch across the way
He waves in a fluster with a few word words to say
He's glances side to side, behind the wall, stepping back
Emerging again from a passageway's crack
Between the tool shed and the gardener's house
He sneaks with the startle and twitch of a mouse
She remains calm, though tickled by his manner
For he might as well wear a bright purple banner
The older woman chuckles in faint squeaks
Hidden by the shutter around which she peeks
The younger one looks quite near seventeen
With floating white sleeves rolled up yet clean
Her girlish neckline, cut wide and low,
Displays to her suitor how well she can sew
Her hair is tucked with a bow on one side
Her grin is reserved with her eyes opened wide
Could her silly boy still have his pruners in hand?
Is he skilled with the saw and tilling the land?
Two women at a window, quite content
Is this how many of their moments this day are spent?