For My Chosen Sister, Southern Comfort

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Art "When Apples Were Gold"
By John M. Strudwick


When Apples Were Golden
By La Belle Rouge

On long afternoons, my sister and I
take the carriage to town.
To me many may look up
but on her most must look down.
She is as dainty as a fairy, petite
with childlike hands and diminutive feet.

My hair shines copper in golden sunlight
but hers is as dark as the enchanted night
and her aqua eyes are mysterious seas
teeming with life and deep as can be.
I play on the lute in our garden so green
as she sings melodies and writes love poetry.

Once we were children, with laughter and curls
then we were nubile, desirable girls.
Once apples were golden and songs were sweet.
Now summer has passed away... it seems in a week!
Yet she is still as fair, ivory skin, dark hair
as when in June suitor's hearts skipped beats.

We've lived our lives but there are more days
to pen words of love and on lutes to play.
Age is only a number, hearts are not grown old.
Still exciting brave knights with passion bold.
In Autumn as lovely as the word webs she spins
making men believe 'tis Summer again.


3/14/2007 La Belle Rouge

"Poetry, Soul Whispers"


Music 'Beethoven's Sonada In C'