Upon Slippered Feet
"come fluttering words, come drifting words to me...."
A Rambling Poet
Upon slippered feet she gently walks,
through laurel maze and courtyard lawns.
There within her sheltered world,
by chance she comes upon.
Stones steps that deeply lead beyond,
the orchard ripe with winter apples.
Down in back of the aged
timbered and stone chapel.
Where on thorny vines, Roses bloom.
She espies a shrine thus enflowered.
She wonders who beside herself,
would be her at such an hour.
For fresh the blooms, in watered vase,
graces the shrine, affixed to, family tomb.
Hesitant to want to disturb,
she bends to the sweet perfume.
Her young mind starts racing quickly,
wondering as to who she may encounter.
Could it be a tortured soul,
in need of prayers power?
Might it not be a handsome Rogue,
a highwayman in need of hiding?
Who chanced upon this very spot,
who now, this moments watching.
With eyes closed, she listens hard,
for the telling sounds of movement.
Could that rustle in the leaves,
be a bounder, of ill intent?
Or was it the pure sound of silk,
from a gown, a Princess enchanted?
Lost and wandering to this place,
awaiting for love to be granted.
Mayhap it was the gardener,
who tends these Roses daily.
Offering a touch of beauty,
to our "Lady of the Valley"
Upon slippered feet she gently climbs,
stone stairs, all the while waiting,
for a voice to call out,
to ease her imaginations baiting.
Paula Swanson
7/16/2011
For the contest: What Is She Thinking..."
Sponsored by Constance La France
Placement: 1st
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