on iron doors
and gilded mirrors,
around her blue eyes
and her soft, rounded hips,
on mercury glass
and cracked porcelain jugs,
on her dreams
and what she once thought of as
destiny
The Patina of Age
on iron doors
and gilded mirrors,
around her blue eyes
and her soft, rounded hips,
on mercury glass
and cracked porcelain jugs,
on her dreams
and what she once thought of as
destiny
spanishwoods 
Oh, this is so lovely!
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Thank you Dale 🙂
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😊
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Yes!
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🙂
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Love this so much. Love the words and image Sylvia 🙂 🙂
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thank you 🙂
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Lovely image and words, Sylvia!
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Thanks Eliza 🙂
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Well written
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thank you 🙂
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“Well written” really didn’t cut it, although I couldn’t find the words at the time, but your poem stayed with me through the day and I thought of how cleverly you described the erosion of time, weaving together the mundane with the assuredness of life’s trials. This is a classic.
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That you took the time to reach out to me again means the world to me. Thank you.
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You are so welcome.
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Lovely. Cheers from Tuscany in spring.
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Thank you Manja. “Tuscany in Spring” sounds like a book I’d like to read….:)
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