HER ROOM:

It had always been her room, from the day of her birth,

Of dolls & toys, strict tutors & all those nannies of mirth,

It was her maiden´s haven, when dreaming of her prince,

Where before her mirror, she would, paint, preen & mince.

 

It was the room, where as a mother, she would quietly rest,

Where she´d hush her babies, nuzzling her soft milk breast,

It was the boudoir of the old Dame, she eventually became,

Of faded shawl & old books & yet, it still close held her name.

 

It was the room of her life & all her memories still lingered,

The scents of rose, lilac, lavender & old fabrics well fingered,

Echoing her past voices, of the child, the maid, mother & Dame,

The old sepia walls of her room, still called out her sweet name.