Neville

My Lady Was a Poem

My Lady Was a Poem

My lady was a poem

just waiting to happen

A flurry

of words balanced …

on the

wings of explorers

Reflecting

the joy on the face

of new parents

The pride of a father

and the

love of a mother

With all but a trace

of the smile

she was known for

And let’s

not forget the way

that she moved

which once

made her famous

Nor the

lavender shawl

that she

wore off her shoulders

My lady

was a poem

just waiting to happen

On the lips of her lovers

and in the

prayers of disciples

She was

a flurry of words

unhurried, yet spoken

At home

in cathedrals, bordello

or ghetto

Now gone tho I hear her

but only

in whispers and echo’s

I sense her

in shadows and embers

and mist

on the hill though

All the places we loved

I try to

scribble in note pads

My lady

was surely a poem

just waiting to happen

yet barely

captured in moments now gone …