The Seasoned Woman
A ball of scarlet string,
complex, yet simple.
She draws the line. She sets the pace.
No strings attached. She is woman.
Young and tangled tight, she unravels with the years.
Understand her, and she will wrap her dreams around you,
and warm your coldest night.
Better aged than fine wine, one taste,
a fragrant blush of passion.
The seasoned woman a tropical vacation,
an island in the sun.
She is the zenith of contentment
for any stag brave enough to climb!
She's arrived in time. Her mission: sensibility.
She wastes not her energies, searching
for the person she hoped to be.
She is formed by years of choice,
some good, some bad.
Change is her friend, stone walls her enemy.
Wisdom thrives on her acceptance of life's
untidy tragedies.
She knows who she is and why she lives,
and is strong enough to admit her fragility.
In the beginning sown of love,
a trusting child with stem and buds reaching for the sun.
Full bloom, she forgives the storm, grateful for the rain.
Expectation brands her vulnerable to pain.
With the older woman, there is no mystery to the shape she'll take,
the color of her love, or how long her bloom will last.
She is mortal as a tree, yet enduring as the sea.
She's blessed the wind with seed.
Daughter, wife, and mother to the lost.
Consequence, her gift.
Her legacy breathes in the sprite flowers flourishing the meadow.
Neglected or indulged she grows.
Accepted or rejected she dreams.
Perennial enchantment.
She can be bold as a thistle, or shy as a violet,
or as beguiling as the thorny rose, cleaving the trellis.
Though her petals wilt, her vines speak devotion.
Wildflower in a field of fantasies,
she is more than necessary fodder.
Nonchalant, in her appearance, she lives in the moment
and she knows she is the best she'll ever be.
Nourish her with tenderness, and possibilities.
More sensual than the long tongue of summer,
cozier than a fireside chat, she'll be your audience in Winter.
She did not happen overnight.
An Easter cactus planning bloom, with calculated risk.
Attend her self-esteem.
Content, to be living in her skin, most days,
she's earned the laugh lines, crinkling 'round her eyes.
You'll wonder what she's thinking, when her blues are showing.
Gaze beyond the frosted glass and see her soul,
a true reflection of your own.
Be the one to treasure every moment, savoring her essence.
Stay with her, because you can't imagine life without her,
and if you can, then set her free.
Need her, not just her shell, but listen
with your ear pressed to her soul.
Love's freedom echoes deep.
Hold her heart with an open hand.
Never crush a tender moment.
Whisper, and she will know you as the one she lives for,
the love she'd die for,
and the one to whom she'd give her heart and soul.
Be the wind in her sails, her safest harbor,
and she will love you
dearest friend,
most cherished gift of life.
11/30/01
© January Grey
