She is dining in the library, alone
as she has so many times.
From her alcove window seat
she surveys the garden in glorious
bloom wistfully watching the swallows
carving the air gracefully.
She has lived here all her life as her
parents did before her, always waiting
quietly she weaves her day dreams
to catch her virile young admirer.
Glancing back she sees the towering shelves
of unread books, dust gathering undisturbed.
Her work is rarely complete. She places aside
her lace threads as she rises from her silken chair.
Stretching out her slender legs she sighs,
her glossy black hair so rarely admired
glinting in the light, as she turns back to
take her first bite. The cobweb quivers.
(Featured in http://thepoetrytree.wordpress.com/ – 2nd Edition – September 2011)