In her life “of was”, she was
an orchestra of life’s colors and grace
More than a piano teacher
She was a lightball of energy, flightened dandelion fuzz
Running down the eighty-eight keys
with pencil resting on her wrist.
It could have fallen many times in her life “of was”
But she kept playing without a skip,
and demanded optimism.
A TODDLER "SHE WAS"
At two, her mother died;
She was raised by Vaudeville partner
with her father’s guide til nine
when he gave her his watch,
then, rode away on motorbike;
Never seen again.
How did her mother’s Vaudeville friend
then, satisfy young child?
Did she teach steps and beats to move her
beyond the pain,
planting celebration music within her soul
when all else had left her lonely stain?
A MOTHER "SHE WAS"
She traveled, married, and mothered three.
The youngest bore her name, Lorna;
Dead at fifteen,only a block away.
I have never known one such as my friend,Lorna,
Staffing the music within her eyes,
causing the sounds their twinkling.
She saw good sprouting from everything (even death)
If not enough turbulence sent her life,
Still there came one last "WAS"
A FAITHFUL WIFE "SHE WAS"
with husband forever bonded.
Their harmony ripped away
by memory's thief,
FROM WHERE HAD THIS WOMAN MUSTERED
STRENGTH TO OVERCOME?
HER ONLY QUANDRY WAS
What had become of her father,
who had left her at age of nine?
Where and why, gone?
She accepted all other,
But could not reason
Everything else she danced and played,
This woman of whom I write, I wish you could have met.
She was more than amazing despite all the hurting WAS.
Never from her wrist did the pencil fall!
She was a lightball of energy,
and in heaven, flightened dandelion fuzz.
Written in memories
of my soulmate.
(I found this extremely difficult to present. Perhaps it should have been written as prose!)
[This message has been edited by Sadelite (01-26-2004 07:13 PM).]