She Once Was A Little Girl

She wakes up when the shy sun-rays dance in her somber room,

Sits on her knees whispering powerful prayers, and then picks up the broom;

With her feeble hands, she bends over and cleans the floor,

Slowly until the noon whistles a blore.

She chews on the saltless broth in the backyard,

Even as her aged heart longs for a spikenard,

Teary cheeks make every latter mouth of broth taste salty,

And slowly it vanished in the backyard, the last echo of poultry.

Tucked under a warm and silken quilt,

In the pink cozy chamber, ages ago built,

Sung to sleep by mother, sweet mother

In the embrace of father, sweet father.

Three pairs of tiny feet,

Padding across the mellow, lavender street;

Echoes of their joyous laughter caressing the ebony trees,

Desiring to drink their potion of childhood mirth in the distant seas.

On the eve of vernal equinox,

Amidst the bloom of cherry blossoms, was a velvet box-

"Wilt thou marry me?" When asked her love, a mother's beloved son,

Her rosy cheeks turned to a golden crimson.

She flew out of her little nest,

Leaving behind memories best.

She was tenderly cared for under her beloved's gentle arms,

He made sure they were full, all their barns.

The next vernal equinox brought forth their cherished offspring,

And there the little family began their adventuring.

Their little girl often took them down a memory lane,

Forever did they treasure the delightful game.

The little girl after two decades was a beautiful woman,

No longer mother's baby girl, but courted by her beloved man;

She took off the nest as gracefully as she bloomed,

Leaving behind churning hearts that she'd perfumed.

Then, as another tear drop fell inside the empty broth,

She wiped her face with her wizened skirt cloth.

She went to the hammock and tried to resume her knitting,

But the absence of broad shoulders on the old swing left her heart bleeding.

She wondered when she would join her beloved in the grave,

She missed dearly those childhood days whence she was always brave;

Aye, she is now a widow and an old grandmother,

Who once was a little girl in the loving hands of her mother.