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