Age
Old woman, sit.
You are a cornerstone,
as gray as the marble vase.
Your hands are gnarled
As the oldest trees.
There are furrows in your face.
But something still shines
From behind your eyes;
A soft and clear, unwavering light;
Something that declares
Your soul still young
And still transcends the night.
Old woman,
Do you search the skies in dreams;
Dance across the meadow's grass?
Do you hold your long gone babies to your breast,
And dream youthful love still lasts?
Old woman, sit.
You have earned your rest
And your life presents a tome to me.
Your scattered mind retraces each graceful step
As golden sunset illumines your dance
And your heart still thrills to youth's rhapsody.
Copyright © Chula Fleming | Year Posted 2012
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