Traveling abroad, the south of France,
I met a woman, quite by chance,
a château high upon a hill,
a sunny day, just a chill.
An afternoon, a brief repast
a time to rest, respite at last.
A cup of tea, a room to hire
discourse beside a roaring fire.
Two glasses, a smile upon a tray,
a lovely way to spend a day
The bottle uncorked, to decanter,
an afternoon, two souls to banter.
A lady of classics versed and learned,
language, letters deservedly earned.
Immersed in art, and well pleasured
evinced well read, qualities treasured.
Phrases turned with style and grace
her simple dress, linen and lace,
Her face a façade, so abiding
wondered what she might be hiding.
Each a special tale to tell,
a deep dark pit, a wishing well.
On the mantle a frame of white,
in its hold, her picture tight.
Drawn a stare, so deep so dark
visage unsettling, emotion stark,
Eyes spoke volumes, expression cast,
a tunnel to a distant past.
A youthful face, there her yearning
a broken smile, sad and burning
Her eyes, piercing, black as night
seared, emitted a blinding light!
A story unwritten, not yet told,
a hidden history to unfold.
And so recounts the years gone bye,
her face aglow, hear her sigh.
Eyes ablaze, her youthful glory
she narrates a wondrous story.
Her life, her love, her heart’s desire,
tales of passion, lust and fire,
Desire’s a weight that’s not abated
pierce the veil that time’s created.
Embrace her life, hear her story
rejoice, rejoice celebrate her glory!
A song to be forever sung,
an old woman now, forever young.
—Martin A. Bojan—