Through the misty-eyed parlor window
I glimpse a ghostly vision
Of an 18th century maiden
Who once walked the grounds
Of Windsor Manor
Donning a dainty rosebud dress
Her russet silken locks and piercingly cobalt eyes
Accent a porcelain pallor
As she trails gracefully in the summer breeze
Along the banks of Lake Windermere
Without a worry in the world.
Up in a treehouse she escapes
To her secret hiding place
Away from life's daily cacophony
Reading Nancy Drew mysteries
Chewing on black licorice pipes
And playing with dolls and stuffed animals
Without any recollection of burdens or concerns.
It sits unobtrusively on the shelf of nostalgia
With its glossy pages of forgotten faces
And adolescent autographs
Waiting to be magically revived
By those who once roamed the scholarly halls of wisdom.
Inside the bureau drawer
Is a box of handwritten letters
From neighboring and distant friends
Sent moons ago
Before the electronic chapter was written.
We picked bushels of plump ripe strawberries
One July Saturday afternoon in the orchard
Plopping them in our little mouths
As we went along
Savoring each sweet ruby jewel
Grandma lightly touched our little hands
To stop us from eating too many
Then Grandpa hauled us home in his wagon
With bushel after bushel of succulent strawberries
Where we helped Grandma fix them into overflowing shortcakes
Which we relished in for days.
If James Dean had outlived his twenty four years on earth
As a young and wild rebel
Would he still be considered the same Hollywood icon
Whose popularity has soared in society circles
For nearly five decades
Playing more combative characters in big screen movies
And winning over millions of female hearts
Or would he be a seventy-one year old man
Worn out from his thrill-seeking adventures
And fast-lane escapades?
VESSEL OF VALUE
The crystal vase
That sits in the window of the antique shop
Reflects a prismatic glow
Upon the cobblestone sidewalk
Drawing me into its mystical trance.
She sits in the back pew
Staring out the sun-tinted glass windows
Tuning out a verbose and repetitious sermon
About abominable sin and undue forgiveness
Daydreaming about playing in the golden fields
With her farm friends
And then racing home for a scrumptious supper
Of fried chicken, buttermilk biscuits and apple pie.