within her soul lived a century of time,
this tiny grey lady who sat in her Queen Anne chair,
faded purple velour, graced with the lace doilies her hands had made.
we sipped orange pekoe tea in Royal Doulton cups
in a refined sort of way, we did,
remembering moments almost, almost lost in the closets of time,
slowly she brought them to life
as if unpacking dusty boxes from the attic of her days,
the memories,fading photographs printed in sepia tones,
one by one, they appeared once more,
some bringing smiles, some bringing sighs,
the tomboy swinging high in the air,
the prom queen dancing with elegant flair,
the mother holding her firstborn with delicate care,
the widow grieving in weeping despair,
this hundred year lady, she took me there,
as we sat midst the lilacs and violets galore.
I am not nearly so old as old was she,
but this one thing she did, she did for me,
in her antique voice,
in her misty blue eyes,
in the gossamer lightness of her delicate hands,
for an hour or two, she did let me see,
a greater share of eternity.
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