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Lady of Grace


Rusty Broadspear

Picture this, my trusted friend……….

Nay come closer, draw up a chair,

I’ll liven the fire and pour the mulled wine.

‘Tis better now, comfort, our mutual friend.

Now – picture a cut glass perfume spray,

With a lacey aroma, so fine.

Aaaah, this wine, nectar of the Earth.

A silver carriage clock whispers seconds away,

Next to the spray. Both bathe in sunlight.

Between the two lies a rose, blushing pink.

Freshly cut, an opening bud, with dewy tears.

All share a shelf - ‘tis a pretty sight.

The shelf is atop a glass doored cabinet,

Like mine over in the corner – do you see?

Containing trinkets, porcelain, a stuffed wren in still flight.

More wine or maybe darjeeling? No – as you wish.

The room is in a quaint thatched cottage

With a fulsome flower garden – reds, pinks and white.

Sloping gently down from the cottage,

To a magnificent, panoramic view of the Valley of Ure.

I’m sorry my friend, I wander, I digress.

Have patience, I ask thee, my mind reduces with time.

Back now to the spray, the clock and the rose.

‘Twas in my doctoring days, that you are aware of. Yes?

Good. I was visiting a lady of grace, as sweet a treasure

One could not meet. Cottage, garden and lady were one.

As were the spray, the clock and the rose.

I tended her gently, all she suffered was the ending of days.

She took my hand, smiled, thanked me for service of years.

‘Twas my pleasure, I replied, whilst holding back tears.

Her days were few, she knew, oh so well,

Yet her eyes were like burning diamonds,

Her cheeks were the colour of the freshly cut rose.

She wafted of perfume from the cut glass spray.

She looked into me and said she had something to say.

The perfume spray, the clock and the rose,

Are yours, as of today.

I couldn’t refuse, and she knew that I knew.

This trinity of possessions bore the essence of her.

You smile with a tear, my friend, dare I ask why?

Ah I see clearly, you’ve strode ahead of me.

But you’re right. The clock was her time, her days spent.

The rose was her garden and all that she loved.

And the spray was her very spirit.

Now, if you look behind you, you’ll see them

On the window sill bathing in the glow of a setting Sun.

She’s here you know, sipping this very conversation…………

More mulled wine and a cigar perhaps?

I thought so………..

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