By Patricia Crandall
Her grace
sits poised upon
an old oaken desk
inside an impressive chamber.
She recites poetry (her own)
to sweet faced,
apple cheek children.
Young eyes sparkle
at her tale
of the woodland
and her extraordinary beauty.
Ex tempore!
A beloved paramour
strides into the cobbled alcove
and leans his slender, impeccably dressed
countenance
against an ivory latticed wall,
entwined by ivy.
He listens enraptured
through a window set ajar
as she trills each consonant
perfectly
while Lilliputian mouths
form o’s in mimicry.
She smiles in coquetry,
sensing he is there.
He dreams of the night.
She, of the moment.
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