The Lady Down the Lane
On my walk around the green meadow
in the sun splattered mesmeric mornings,
I used to see an old lady of the neighborhood,
sitting straight like a lone statue of cold stone
on the road-side bench I always crossed.
The golden stream of surging sunbeam
cascaded down the engraved web of rills
on her septuagenarian fragile face.
She would raise her thin ivory hands
from the recess of reclined lap unmoved,
flail in frail gesture in the scented air,
murmuring ‘good morning’ perhaps,
I could hardly hear in the rustle of leaves,
but my long day waited to begin
with the shining dawn of her smile,
drenching me in the silent shower of joy.
I still walk as the senile sun rises everyday,
but its searching rays saddened like me,
don’t find the lady on the bench,
but she walks smiling with me,
down the memory lane.
Written : March 22, 2020
July 23, 2022
Contest : 2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 9
Sponsored by : Mark Toney
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