By Sue Lobo…
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.
© Sue Lobo
Excerpt from the book “I Am Woman”
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