My Lady

Nutmeg brown the color of her eyes,
Silver-black her hair
a smile that opens like a rose
greeting the morning air.
A blossom slowly opening
on a century plant.
A river of bluebells with
a forest for its banks.

A chipmunk shyly peaking out
ready to scamper under the leaves,
or a couple of squirrels
on the ground searching for their burried food
worried about losing what they have,
in constant motion to feed their brood.

Waves lapping on the shore
smooting jagged pieces of stone
like water flowing over a cliff
forming its cup in the rock below
creating a basin of foam.

Or a Grandfather Clock in a hall
ordering time by its pedulum swing,
never stopping its persistent march
to never ending dreams.

Constantly thinking of ways to please
like getting a kiss from a springtime breeze.
Catching fireflies on a summer night to place in a jar
watching the eerie green light.

These images and memories past
are brought to life by her acts
of kindness and generosity.

P.J. Wolf