Ode to the Lady

To the lady who sees me as I am, To the lady who sees me as a book, Turning through my pages, Straightening its dog ears, Reading between the lines. To the lady to whom I stand as a mirror, Reflecting beyond my charm and calm, Reaching for the hidden part of me, Seeing the night that comes to my room, Knowing that I add stars to its sky. To the lady who said I do, Despite my shades and fades, Polishing my weathered surface, Waiting for my shrivelled meadow to bloom, Anticipating the sprout of my feeble boughs. To the lady who knows my mother has a pride of place in me, She has read the ode I wrote to my mother, But still knows that she’s not barricaded from my heart’s door, The fragrance that pervades my room, She’s the purple flower in my garden. April 29, 2024.